


Second Impressions

by coolhandjennie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Boners, Background Relationships, Brienne has a potty mouth, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, I think Brienne would be slightly more confident in the modern world, Introspection, Mild Angst, jealous jaime, maybe a bit OOC but I don't really think so, mostly because I have a potty mouth, thanks to therapy and the internet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:08:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolhandjennie/pseuds/coolhandjennie
Summary: “Best friend isn’t a person, Danny, it’s a tier.” – Dr. Mindy Lahiri (The Mindy Project)
Margaery & Sansa are getting married and have planned a fun weekend of activities with their closest friends the week before the wedding. As they revisit the places that brought them all together, best friends Brienne & Jaime reflect on the past they've overcome and the future they're afraid to hope for.





	1. The Beach (Brienne)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into J/B fanfic so please be gentle! Special thanks to ellethom for her feedback & encouragement.

Two of Brienne’s three best friends are getting married. To each other. And of course Brienne is happy for them because she wants happiness for all the people she cares about. But part of her brain, the honest part with no mute button, can’t deny feeling a little bit sad, too. Once Margaery and Sansa move into their new house it will be the ending of an era, the first time in nearly ten years that they’ll be living apart. 

They’ve been together since day one of freshman year, randomly matched roommates at King’s Landing University. Because Brienne can be as judgmental as her better looking peers, she initially ignored the girls’ friendly overtures. In her experience, pretty girls did not bestow friendship and genuine affection upon giant lumbering beasts such as her. She underestimated Sansa’s tenacity and if Marg was a bit more calculating at the start, she eventually followed Sansa’s lead and it’s been the three of them against the world ever since, the Artie’s Angels of KLU. 

In many ways it still was, would _always_ be; they’ve been through too much shit together not to be bonded for life. But Margaery and Sansa are going to be their own family now, they’ll share a life in a way that fundamentally excludes Brienne. Pretty soon they’ll have kids and sure, those children will worship their dear Auntie Bri and serve as her loyal minions for all of her days, but still. They might even move away. It seems silly now but she’s never imagined any of them living outside of King’s Landing. She should probably start. 

Such are the thoughts clouding Brienne Tarth’s brain as she shovels a hole in the sand alongside Best Friend #3 with a fierce scowl on her face. 

“What climbed up your butt and died today, wench?” 

Brienne ignores him with a long suffering sigh and attacks the sand with vigor. This has been her designated responsibility since their first girls-only camping trip ten years ago: Brienne digs the pit, Margaery collects the wood, Sansa tends the fire. 

They’ve been coming to this narrow ledge of pristine beach on the deserted north end of Kingswood National Forest for ages. One night a few years ago, after camping went coed, a bored Jaime Lannister got the idea in his pretty head that they could reach the beach from the parking lot by kayaking through the marsh instead of hiking through the woods (anything to get out of carrying stuff). Brienne wasn’t totally sure it would work but Jaime going solo was totally a bad idea so, as usual, she went along with him. As long as she had eyes on him, she wasn’t worried. Even if it was dangerous she knew he had her back. And of course the smarmy asshole turned out to be right. 

Said Lannister is currently tamping down the sand she sends flying and lining the rim of the pit with rocks. In other words, the bare minimum amount of work he can get away with. Classic Jaime. He’s bored, which means he’s never going to shut up. 

“What, you’re not keen to kick off our weekend of Fun Things Couples Do?”

Brienne flushes. “That’s not what this is! It’s about celebrating friendship and the way we all, I don’t know, impacted their relationship.”

Jaime isn’t buying it. “There’s a fucking _itinerary_ , Brienne. For a weekend of mini-golf and bar hopping.”

“We’re not bar hopping! It might be a bit…over organized. But you know how Sansa is, she needs to channel her burning desire to plan shit. Especially since Marg doesn’t want a traditional over-the-top wedding.”

It makes sense to her that in lieu of traditional wedding events like a shower or bachelorette party, Marg and Sansa are opting for a long weekend of fun activities with their family of friends in the places that mean the most to them. As Best Woman to both brides, Brienne is happy to be off the hook for all the usual pre-wedding crap she’d otherwise be responsible for (though Sansa made it very clear she can’t dodge the public speaking bullet; a toast is expected).

“I still don’t see why a strip club is out of the question, all things considered,” Jaime mutters.

“Why do I tolerate your presence?”

“Because I’m your best friend and you luuuuurve me,” he purrs, suddenly very close to her ear. 

Blushing because it’s true in a complicated way, Brienne rolls her eyes and keeps digging. She learned long ago that silence is the best defense against Lannister snark. 

As always they work in tandem, accomplishing their goal through wordless communication. Which isn’t to say they work in silence. Jaime blathers on about something or other while Brienne tunes him out, absorbed in the mindlessness of her task. From the confines of the pit, with Jaime hovering around the edge, it feels like whichever way she turns, he’s invading her space. Which shouldn’t be weird, he’s _always_ invading her space. But lately…

Jaime has been acting weird. For the last couple of months he’s been distant and surly in a way she hasn’t witnessed since way back when they were frenemies. It’s not anything specific he’s said or done, though they’ve definitely been hanging out less than usual. He still meets up with everyone for group volleyball night but they aren’t spending any time together on their own, which has become a normal thing. So now when he doesn’t pop in during her office hours in the middle of the week or show up on her doorstep with a movie and a bag of junk food on any given Sunday, it feels weird. And she feels weird that it feels weird. 

She knows he’s got a lot on his plate right now, getting ready to present his latest research at a major academic conference next week – the day before the wedding – so it’s a big deal for him to take this weekend away from prepping just to be there for Marg and Sansa. He’s choosing to be a person, not a machine singularly focused on his career beyond all else, and she respects that. His friends are important to him. She knows she’s important to him, even if it hasn’t felt like it in a while. 

Until today. It’s like a switch has been flipped. All of a sudden Jaime has been very touchy-feely, a nudge of his shoulder, a palm on her lower back, a whisper in her ear leading to a brush of lips against skin. It wasn’t until he stroked the sensitive spot on the side of her neck that she smacked his hand away. He smirkingly blamed it on her flyaway hair and she’d stormed off in search of bobby pins. 

He’s coming on strong and she doesn’t know why. Of course there’s nothing romantic going on between them but it wouldn’t be the first time the energy between them went squirrelly. She’s tempted to assume something horrible is going on with his family and he’s just acting out but she stops short because he deserves the benefit of that particular doubt, and also because he seems so damn happy. This doesn’t feel like Jaime Lannister in self-destruct mode. So what the hell is going on?

Without a break in his monologue – he’s either planning to buy sneakers or a new car, she hasn’t been paying enough attention to absorb all the details – he hands her a bottle of water and slides his sweaty ball cap onto her head, the brim shading her already pink nose. She knows it’s ungracious to be annoyed by a kind gesture but honestly, behavior like this is the reason their friends call them an old married couple. 

Jaime’s wisecrack about this being a couples weekend unsettled her. It just so happens that over the years their tight knit circle has coupled up, with the obvious exception of Brienne and Jaime. Besides Margaery and Sansa, who didn’t even become a couple until their first year of grad school, and Marg’s brother/Best Man Loras, who was with Renly long before they were ever officially “together”, Drogo and Dany are currently “on” again (for now), Ygritte has finally conceded that she and Sansa’s cousin Jon are in a relationship (much to Jon’s long suffering relief), and against all odds, Jaime’s brother Tyrion is giving monogamy a shot with Tysha, the new girl at his favorite campus coffee shop. 

Brienne and Jaime have been the non-couple couple of the group for years. They certainly fought like married people from the day they met. Now they only come in two settings: butting heads or joined at the hip. They spend loads of time together, are good at the same things, and often (annoyingly) finish each other’s sentences, but otherwise never act like they’re dating. 

At some point their friends just stopped speculating. Their weird dynamic was accepted and absorbed into the group. The general consensus (not that either of them are aware of this) is that they probably aren’t sleeping together but have probably slept together at some point. (There may or may not exist a notebook filled with detailed wagers predicting milestones along their assumedly consummated relationship; they are oblivious to this as well.)

Brienne pauses in her digging, surveying the oddly placid surf. She has to concede that in many ways they _are_ like a couple – providing comfort and companionship in times of need, a shoulder to cry on, a forgiving soul to rage against. It’s a sturdy friendship based on platonic love and mutual respect, underscored by bottled up emotions on her part and the occasional awkward boner on his. 

It has become second nature for Brienne to tune out her deeper feelings for Jaime. Even when she hated him, she was attracted to him. Once they broke through the barriers of distrust and miscommunication, her feelings settled into a low, hidden place deep in her belly where she mostly ignores them. Occasional flair ups are inevitable, of course. After so many years, run-of-the-mill shirtlessness now only merits a mild jolt to her nervous system or a slight lurch in her gut. She tries to avoid him in close proximity to babies or puppies. 

It suddenly strikes her as funny, here at the beach, that swimming seems to be the only activity that makes him more uncomfortable than her. Having grown up on an island, the ocean is one of the few places she feels completely at ease in her oversized body. While she remains intimidated by Jaime’s golden blond perfection, years of self-compassion and tough love have granted her enough ease in her own skin to no longer be crippled by self-consciousness. Yet he is decidedly uneasy whenever they’re in the water. His gaze seems to linger longer, his mood is more subdued. He stays in waist-deep water for lengthy periods of time. She never reads too much into it but she doesn’t hate how it makes her feel. They don’t go swimming often.

“We should go swimming,” Jaime suddenly says, apropos of nothing.

Brienne only has time to blink blankly before she’s suddenly tackled at the waist by a giant red blur and hoisted over a shoulder running pell mell to the ocean. It’s the battle cry “Taaaaarth!” that confirms her assailant, the only man with the strength and audacity to pull a move like this on her and escape with his balls intact – Tormund Giantsbane, wildling sex god.


	2. The Beach (Jaime)

Of course Jaime knows all about Margaery’s hilarious nickname for the girls’ northern friend. He immediately guesses this is the famed Wildling of yore, from that unaccountable time when Jaime existed as nothing more than a tarnished academic footnote in Brienne’s awareness. He’s always chalked Brienne’s Tormund-related blushes up to her general uptight response at any mention of the s-e-x word. Observing her current lack of prudishness at being manhandled by the big lug, Jaime is beginning to doubt his assumptions.

One look at the smirk on Ygritte’s face and Jaime knows she has something to do with this unexpected intrusion. She enjoys fucking with Jaime immensely and apparently thinks Tormund will help achieve that end. Jaime has no idea why; it’s not like he’s jealous of some old friend of Brienne’s. Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a swell of satisfaction when both parties end up equally drenched, Brienne having taken the bearded man down with her. The feeling is short lived as they emerge from the surf sputtering and laughing, which is annoying enough, but then the oaf plants a lusty kiss on her surprised mouth. _What the fucking hells?_ Jaime’s entire body tenses, rigid with rage.

They wade out of the water towards him, the ginger’s pervy arm slung around Brienne’s waist. Still laughing, she introduces him to Jaime and Drogo, who wandered over to watch Jaime watch the boisterous reunion. Drogo also enjoys fucking with Jaime.

“Guys, this is Tormund, he’s visiting from North-Beyond-the-Wall. He’s known Sansa’s family for ages. He graduated with us.”

The guys all shake hands. Jaime and Drogo exchange a look.

“Gosh it’s been…was graduation really the last time you were in King’s Landing?” Brienne is gushing. Jaime wants to puke.

“Well, technically it was the day _after_ graduation,” Tormund leers at her, sending her blush into overdrive.

What. The. Fuck. “So, Tormund,” Jaime speaks through a tight smile. “Down for the weekend?”

“Oh no, I can’t very well miss little Sansa’s wedding!”

Jaime’s nostrils flare in an otherwise stoic expression.

Brienne is surprised. “You’ll be here all week, then!”

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen the old place and uh, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” He leers again. Brienne pretends not to notice.

Jaime and Drogo share another look. Jaime knows Drogo lives for the opportunity to break his balls over any and everything but he can tell the man is not crazy about Handsy McFuckface drooling all over Brienne. They clearly have history but the dude’s been fuck knows where for five years and just rolls up like nothing? Not on their watch.

“Nice to meet you, Tormund.” Drogo is all sincere politeness. “Help me unload the kegs?” He claps a meaty hand around Tor’s shoulder and pulls him away without waiting for an answer. Jaime is surprised and kind of touched by Drogo’s act of bro-ism.

Brienne’s response to the sudden awkward tension in the air is to ignore it, throwing herself into pit-digging with ferocity. He’s OK pretending Tormund doesn’t exist. Nobody appreciates “bygones” like Jaime Lannister.

He knows he’s not being fair. Tormund was a good friend to Brienne when she really needed one and probably even helped her gain some much needed confidence. He should probably feel grateful. Doesn’t make him want to punch the bastard any less, though. When he thinks of that hulk’s hands on Brienne’s body, his mouth – _her_ mouth…

Jaime yanks the shovel out of Brienne’s hands and pulls her out of the pit, wordlessly jumping into her place. He attacks the sand like it’s Tormund’s face and is pleased to discover it makes him feel better. Hopefully Margaery and Tyrion are done setting up the volleyball net, he needs to whack the crap out of more stuff. Maybe Brienne will do some warm up drills with him before the first match. They probably won’t be playing on the same team since this was a have-fun-with-the-group-everyone’s-a-winner type of game, as opposed to the crush-all-opponents-into-the-dirt-and-make-them-cry type that has made him and Brienne the KLU intramural volleyball league champs for three years running.

Now Brienne hovers over Jaime, though he knows she’s not doing it on purpose to set him on edge, the way he was earlier when he knowingly crowded her, trying to goad her into…something, he’s not sure what. When pushed past a certain level of discomfort, Brienne tends to make unexpected declarations of truth as that pesky code of honor breaches her own defenses, never letting her keep her mouth shut. But _he’s_ the impulsive chatterbox.

“Could you go do something useful instead of fluttering around like a nervous hen?” he lashes out, immediately regretting his words. “Wait, Brienne, I didn’t mean –”

“I’ll check on the net,” she mutters as she walks away, eyes downcast, face expressionless.

_WHY_ is he such an asshole? Why could he not for once keep his fucking tongue in his fucking mouth? Why _is_ she even friends with him?

From an outsider’s perspective, Jaime and Brienne’s friendship probably doesn’t make a lot of sense. For one thing, he’s a lot older than her and she was young when they met five years ago, twenty-one to his thirty-five. Her maturity combined with his lack thereof helps level the playing field a bit, but still. She’s a do-gooding optimist, he can be a miserable prat. She’s kind, he was cruel, especially back when he was lost in the swirling abyss of a dissolving relationship with the love of his life, in addition to the many failures of his youth and a lifetime of self-loathing that normally bore down on him.

Maybe Brienne recognized a kindred wounded spirit. For some reason she’s always been able to see right through his bullshit, maybe because she’s immune to charm in general (which he maintains doesn’t mean she isn’t charmed by him, only that she’s unimpressed). Her implacable sense of honor and duty make her someone whose approval he seeks. She’s often serious to the point of dour but on occasion his antics pierce her grim façade and he’s rewarded with a smile or, rarer still, a laugh, which only encourages him to try harder. Which is ultimately the reason they became friends in the first place; she made him want to try harder than anyone thought him capable and he was the only man who ever tried so hard to know the real her.

There are a lot of reasons for him to stay away from her. The things he’s done; the things he’s told her, knowing that she cares about him, knowing he couldn’t love her, not the way she deserved; burdening this _girl_ – no matter how tall or swarthy or responsible she is, he often has to remind himself she’s still just a girl – burdening her with his sins so she can, what? Absolve him? Admiring and envious of her innocence, constantly at war with himself lest he tarnish her any further. And yet every blow he strikes, she parries. Once she knew the truth of his past, she yielded her judgment without hesitation. How can he walk away from that? Who else will ever see all the broken pieces and love him anyway?

So he has stayed by her side, given what he could, accepted what she offered, and he thinks she’d agree they’ve had a pretty good thing going. Not that they ever talk about this stuff. At this stage of the game, words won’t suffice. If change is to occur, action must be taken. Jaime knows he’s ready for their next chapter; he can only hope Brienne is on the same page. And that Tormund the sodding douche bag has been written out of the story.


	3. Volleyball (Brienne)

Tyrion likes to brag that he turned Sansa gay. It is not Margaery’s favorite joke, maybe because there’s enough truth ringing around the boast to make her uncomfortable, due to the world’s most implausible if shortly lived hookup. Tyrion was, in fact, the last dude Sansa dated before realizing she was completely in love with Margaery. That he’s the one who helped Sansa figure shit out will eternally endear him to Marg but will not prevent her from imposing a strict set of rules and regulations regarding the content of his wedding toast as Sansa’s Best Man and all other public behavior along their path to wedded bliss.

Brienne, as Margaery’s enforcer, put him in charge of coordinating the beach volleyball portion of the weekend’s activities, mostly because he’s good at that stuff but partly because they won’t really be in a public place so any unanticipated but totally inevitable shenanigans will go unnoticed.

He’s currently testing the net’s tautness by bouncing the ball against it. Brienne tries to maintain a neutral expression as she approaches him. The way his eyes immediately flicker from her face to his brother’s indicate that she has failed. Why does everyone think her every mood shift begins and ends with Jaime? It’s annoying. It’s also often true, which is probably what makes it so annoying.

Tyrion looks up – way up – at her. As a dwarf, his height is often conspicuous but never so much as when he’s beside his 6’3” friend. He remains endlessly delighted that even Jaime has to look up at Brienne, even if it’s only a couple of inches.  “What did he do now?”

Brienne huffs at that. “Why did he have to do something? Can’t I just be in a bad mood?”

He purses his lips as he contemplates her. “Maybe, but when you both look miserable it’s usually for the same reason, which is usually because he’s done or said something stupid.”

“Don’t say stupid,” she says absentmindedly, an unbreakable habit.

Tyrion rolls his eyes. “Fine. How about impulsive? Insensitive? Short sighted? Do any or all of those terms apply?”

“Whatever. Do you need my help with anything?”

“No, I’ve got this covered. We should pick teams.” Tyrion, a deceptively gifted volleyball player, always picks the teams. “Do you think the two of you are mature enough by now to play on opposite teams without bloodshed or injury?”

It started as a joke that ended up biting everyone else in the ass. In the pre-Drogo days when their weekly volleyball tradition was first launched, it made sense that the two “bigs” in the group should play on opposite sides.

“Obviously we should be on different teams,” Jaime had smirked, “that way each side has one full grown man…sized person.”

Brienne and Jaime as competitive rivals back when they hated each other was predictably hilarious. Jaime liked to provoke and Brienne wasn’t one to back down. They’d rip each other to shreds literally and figuratively as they clashed on opposite sides of the net again and again, willing to go for the jugular, occasionally hitting below the belt. They would get into epic screaming matches over the dumbest shit and if it seemed like maybe there was some underlying subtext or tension in every argument, their friends kept their mouths shut. They were intensely competitive and evenly matched right from the start, resulting in multiple bloody noses between them, and that was just during the inaugural game.

Eventually the collateral damage became too great. After Loras was accidentally crushed during one of their scuffles, the group determined it was in everyone’s best interests for Brienne and Jaime to be contained on the same team. This was also hilarious as they seethed under the bridle of sportsmanship, maintaining as much physical distance as a thirty-by-thirty-foot patch of sand would allow. However, it quickly became obvious that when the chips were down, they couldn’t help joining forces to ensure victory despite their mutual loathing. When they worked as a team they were pretty much unstoppable, to the point that it was no fun to play against them. It was finally agreed upon that they could play on the same team as long as they didn’t gang up on the other side. 

“Yes Tyrion, I think we can handle it.”

“Good, because I think Jaime needs to be on the same team as Tormund.”

“What? Why?” Brienne’s gut tells her Jaime should be kept as far away from the Northman as possible but she’s not really sure why. Probably because Jaime will tease her mercilessly if he ever finds out the torrid details of her history with Tor.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, my friend, but my dear brother tends to get aggressively competitive around…new people.” He throws her a sly look that flies right over her head.

Remembering her own inauspicious beginnings with Jaime as well as the first few times Drogo came around, she can’t help seeing Tyrion’s point.

She nods in agreement. “OK, so put me and Drogo against the two of them, Marg and Loras against Renly and Sansa, Dany against Ygritte, you against Jon. Is Tysha playing? We could have a seven man team.”

“No, she’s more of a watcher than a doer. Plus, you guys scare the shit out of her. He might need some convincing.”

Brienne’s confused. “Who?”

“The High Septon,” he deadpans. “ _Jaime_! You know how antsy he gets when you’re not attached at the hip.”

“Tyrion, that’s not – he doesn’t – shut up.”

Tyrion smiles in delight. “Brienne! That was almost a snappy comeback! I’m so proud of you. There’s no need to get defensive, it’s merely a simple truth that you go everywhere and do everything together.”

Brienne’s temper starts to flare. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? Tell me, is Jaime free to attend the Kingsryche concert with me next month?”

“Ask him yourself, I’m not his fucking social secretary,” she bites out through overlarge clenched teeth.

“ _Oh Jaime_ ,” Tyrion sings out, mocking Brienne with his eyes, “are you free for the Kingsryche concert next month? It’s on the fifteenth, it’s a Saturday.”

Jaime doesn’t look up, still furiously digging what’s fast becoming the world’s deepest fire pit. “I don’t know, ask Brienne.”

She closes her eyes as the deep red blush suffusing her skin climbs from her neck, over her face, and into her hairline. Because she fucking _is_ his fucking social secretary. Because they fucking _do_ go fucking everywhere together, and he’s always _fucking_ forgetting stuff.

Her shoulders slump in defeat. “No, he can’t go. There’s a thing for your father’s birthday.”

“Oh that’s right! I knew there was a reason I bought tickets for the Saturday show.”

Normally Brienne would call Tyrion out for being snarky about his own father but Tywin Lannister is a rigid SOB who tends to turn mean on his children after a couple of drinks. Tyrion often bears the brunt, his dwarfism a bitter pill his father could never swallow.

“That sounds like a wicked awesome time, I’m sure you’ll have a blast,” he smirks.

“ _I’m_ not going! Why would I walk into that shit show?”

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Right, Jaime’s going to fly _alone_ to Casterly Rock for a big formal family gathering with Father, our sweet sister and her drunkard of a husband. How do you think that’s going to turn out? Let me give you a hint.” He leans toward her conspiratorially. “ _Not well_. No, he’s going to flash those puppy dog emeralds at you, entreat you to be his noble champion and rescue him from the horrors that surely await. He’s looking at a raging hangover at the very least, disinheritance at worst. And you, monument to justice and honor that you are, will say yes.”

Brienne sulks in silence. She and Jaime don’t spend _every_ moment together. She has other friends. She’s actually a very independent person. There are lots of things she enjoys about being single, such as total remote control dominance, sleeping in the middle of the bed, and not having to take another person’s thoughts or feelings into consideration before making decisions. Although if she’s being honest, she often _does_ consider Jaime’s thoughts and feelings when she makes decisions, whether it’s about which pizza to order or his emotional security in the poisonous presence of his cunty twin sister.

It’s not that Brienne is a doormat, she’s just fiercely loyal to the few friends whom she holds as close as family. After a lonely childhood and humiliating adolescence as a freakishly tall, mannishly wide fish out of water, college wasn’t much different than high school in terms of assholes saying shitty things about her looks and her traitorous blush making every awkward social interaction ten times worse. She’ll always feel grateful to have been adopted by Margaery and Sansa so quickly. Without them, she might not have stuck around long enough to graduate.

It took years to grow the tight knit group assembled on this beach and Brienne now finds herself surrounded by people who truly _see_ her, the true hearted girl scowling beneath freckles and blushes. They accept her, give her the confidence to be that girl all of the time. Yes, she still blushes at the drop of a hat, and part of her Brienne-ness is a bit of judgy self-righteousness, but she’s carved out a life for herself with people who care about her. And against all odds, Jaime Lannister has wriggled his way into becoming one of those people.

She decides to stop being pissed at him. “You can stop digging now,” she calls out. “Let’s run some drills.”


	4. Volleyball (Jaime)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid your Tormund musings will remain unexplored for a bit, my dears. I was pleasantly surprised by everyone's curiosity, thanks for the feedback! It's alway nice to know what's working.

While most normal friendships might grow out of shared interests and mutual respect, for Jaime and Brienne it was more like an avalanche of mutual disgust bordering on hatred churning into grudging respect, then sort of overnight becoming best friends.

The best friends thing happened because of Catelyn Stark. About four years ago, Sansa’s mom saw Jaime and Brienne in action at one of the weekly volleyball matches. They abided by fair play rules but it was obvious they were chomping at the bit to unleash their competitive fury. 

“Why don’t you join university intramurals? They have a coed two man volleyball league.”

Brienne was immediately dismissive. “You need to be affiliated with the university. Jaime’s not eligible.”

It was true. Half of them were associated with KLU one way or another – Brienne, Sansa and Margaery were getting their Maesters degrees back then, Renly and Loras were PhD candidates, and Tyrion was a newly tenured professor. Jaime had no connection to the university since his own scandal-ridden graduate school days.

Yet for the first time in years, Jaime’s interest in something was piqued. He hadn’t engaged in organized sports since high school but he was suddenly intrigued by the prospect of playing competitively with Brienne. Given the emotional slump he’d been in, he decided not to question anything that got his blood pumping.

“What if I taught a class?” No one was more surprised to hear him say it than himself.

Brienne gave him a what-are-you-smoking look. “Just so you can play volleyball?”

He shrugged. “Why not. I’m a big shot has-been, they’d probably let me run a senior seminar or something like that. Wanna do it?”

Brienne measured his gaze, finding only straightforward sincerity. He couldn’t blame her questioning look; this was the first time she’d seen him take an interest in anything besides mocking her relentlessly.

She shrugged back in reply. “Why not." 

That singular decision led to Jaime’s return to academia after a self-imposed exile of nearly fifteen years. Once a rising star in KLU’s world renowned Medieval Classics graduate program under the guidance of rockstar professor Aerys “The King” Targaryen, Jaime was publicly persecuted yet never prosecuted for the scandalous forced retirement and subsequent death by house fire of his mentor. Jaime’s reputation was cemented as an impulsive, untrustworthy trust fund baby whose bulletproof last name shielded him from any academic or legal ramifications.

Never mind that the so-called King was guilty of gross misconduct towards many of his students; that others knew but did nothing; that Jaime put an end to it; that his father and the university came to a mutually beneficial arrangement in order to keep Jaime’s name and the school’s lack of oversight out of the papers. Dubbed Kingslayer behind his back and occasionally to his face, Jaime completed his doctorate – because fuck those self-righteous pricks – then abandoned academia for the world of medieval fantasy fiction, publishing a series of novels popular enough to ensure his financial security in his own right, Lannister millions be damned.

The madness of King Aerys made national news and the subsequent notoriety that followed, combined with Jaime’s good looks and undeniable charm, helped keep his books in the mid-best seller range. Titling the first book _Kingslayer_ didn’t hurt, either. But then Jaime Lannister always knew how to tell a good story, which was perhaps both his strongest asset and greatest liability. He’d been coasting on the success of those books for over a decade. 

Four years after Catlyn Stark’s suggestion, he now leads the most popular seminar on campus, is exploring an entirely new aspect of medieval lore, and has written his first academic paper since his dissertation, which has been accepted for publication as well as presentation before the Westerosi Medieval Literature Society. He is also many chapters into what he knows to be his best fictional effort to date, all because he’d wanted to compete beside Brienne. He feels a bit guilty keeping his latest story efforts under wraps from her. Rest of the world be damned, he owes Brienne everything for dragging him out of his depths of despair and daring him not only to live, but to thrive.

His recent withdrawn behavior isn’t only because the time he’d normally spend falling all over Brienne has been dedicated to the story ideas bursting out of his head. He finds himself afraid as never before. What if she thinks it’s crap? The girl is no slouch, she essentially acted as his research assistant while he wrote the paper for the MedLit society, keeping up with her own PhD coursework and teaching responsibilities at the same time. His insecurities have led him to keep the new project a secret from her, which unfortunately meant unexplained absences. But he’s been emotionally distant too, and he knows it. He also knows he’s throwing her off kilter this weekend by suddenly throwing himself at her feet.

The unexpected appearance of Tormund Giantsdouche might require Jaime to advance his time table. The wildling is coming in hot, making it clear he intends to pick up wherever he’d left off with Brienne. Jaime is determined to nip that shit in the bud, even if he’s currently being forced to team up with the red headed boor.

He won’t let the other guys win because no way in hell will he allow a team comprised of Brienne and Drogo to claim victory over him, but he’s going to make Tormund work for it. It’s bad enough he has to suffer the man’s glances at his wench in her official volleyball uniform, i.e. a fucking bikini. OK fine, maybe it was closer to a sports bra than a bikini, and maybe she had nothing to fill it out anyway, and maybe she was wearing denim cut offs instead of the actual uniform bottoms which were tantamount to hot pants, but still, it was the principle.

He remembers the first time he saw that uniform on her gigantic frame. For all of his relentless mockery of her height, broad shoulders, and pale freckled skin, the combination of it all was rather magnificent when the wench was mid-serve, sculpted muscles frozen like marble made flesh. Nevertheless, he was completely scandalized when she pulled off her hoodie and warm up shorts at their first intramural match.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he demanded.

She looked down at herself cluelessly. “What?”

His hand fluttered in front of her bared midsection. “This. What are you _wearing_?”

Brienne frowned. “What are you talking about? This is totally normal for beach volleyball. I’m not going to Sept for fucks sake.”

Jaime only scowled in reply.

“At least the shorts cover my butt,” she continued. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to find bottoms that don’t give me a permanent wedgie?”

She gestured at some of the more scantily clad players roaming the courts. Jaime was not appeased. They continued bickering as they took their places for the first set.

“Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.”

It was Brienne’s turn to scowl. “By _what_?”

The ref blew the whistle and everything but the game fell away. Well, the game and the dimples on Brienne’s back just above her shorty shorts. He told himself to shut up and pay attention. To the game. 

Jaime and Brienne operated like a finely honed machine on the volleyball court, anticipating each other's moves as if they were telepathic. They destroyed the Greyjoy siblings in two quick sets. As had become their ritual, Jaime jumped up for a victory chest bump, met and matched by Brienne. 

He’d done it once during a weekly beach game with their friends, trying to embarrass her by drawing attention to her “lack of womanly attributes” as he referred to her flat chest and broad shoulders. Unwilling to give him any satisfaction, she’d stood her ground, feet planted, shoulders thrown back. It was actually a well executed maneuver, though anticlimactic in the moment for Jaime. Brienne smirked and walked away but after that it became their signature celebratory move.

In between sets on that first day at intramurals, not thirty seconds after Jaime called Brienne a pig headed wench, he was in some guy’s face for repeating the same words to her.

“The fuck’d you say?” Jaime growled at the guy, who no longer looked so smug. The guy shook his head and said nothing. “That’s what I thought. Now fuck off.” 

Brienne stared at Jaime like he had three heads. He shrugged dismissively. “Nobody talks shit about you but me.”

And that was it. From then on, they had each other’s backs, no matter what. Later there would be painful confessions and shared secrets, the worst sides of them yet to be revealed, but it was that act of solidarity in the sand that bonded them for good.

Jaime decides he’s not worried about Tormund after all. Brienne hasn’t seen or mentioned him in years and if he’s not mistaken – and he knows he’s not – she’s uncomfortable with all the grab-ass and eyebrow waggling. He’ll let the weekend run its course and play things by ear. Winging it is his strong suit, after all. For now, he concentrates on beating the shit out of Brienne and Drogo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't set out to mirror every canonical milestone necessarily (although that's half the fun of a modern AU imo) but Jaime's past is hugely defined by Aerys and the reputation that followed, and it seemed like that could fit here. Let me know if you agree or if it feels forced.


	5. Post Game Analysis (Brienne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for [stayseated](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stayseated/pseuds/stayseated) because DROGO! XD

Having crushed the opposition all morning long, Brienne’s ready for a break. Jaime's relentless antagonizing of Tormund – his own teammate, for Seven’s sake – and Tormund’s relentless flirting makes everything more exhausting. Even Drogo is being a bit odd. For some reason she gets the impression that he doesn’t like Tor either. 

There was plenty of unnecessary roughness to go around during the game, between Jaime’s flagrant shouldering of Tormund as they jockeyed for position against the net, and Drogo spiking more than one ball almost directly into Tormund’s face. Not that Tor wasn’t being a bit of a wanker, needling them every chance he got. This was on top of Ygritte getting aggressive with Jon, Tyrion getting drunk and creating a hoopla, and Renly and Loras threatening to bail if everyone didn’t get serious. Thanks to Brienne's hard won ability to tune out petty bullshit, it was almost easy to win.

Hoping to continue avoiding bullshit until Jon and Renly are done grilling the shit ton of meat, clams and shrimp they all pitched in for, she lays back atop her oversized retro Artie’s Angels towel – she, Sansa and Margaery each have one, an epic Five King’s Day gift from Tyrion – and dozes under her carefully angled umbrella, ensuring every inch of pale freckled skin is covered. This close to the ground, wind and water conspire to dull the noise and chatter into a soothing mutter, allowing troublesome thoughts to pool in her brain.

Brienne knows that Jaime knows that she and Tormund messed around way back when but she’s as likely to discuss the details with him as she would be with anyone else – which is to say, not at all. She also knows Jaime won’t push the issue because then it might look like he actually cares one way or the other and he never wants anyone to know he cares about anything.

She startles awake an indeterminate number of minutes later, the smell of cocoa butter pervading her nostrils. A flash of color at the bottom of her field of vision draws her attention, cross eyed, to a bright pink swipe of zinc oxide painted on her nose. Jaime lays on his stomach inches away from her, his towel arranged parallel to hers in the sun, his head at her feet. There's a matching pink stripe on his nose. She must've been out cold if he’d been able to anoint her so stealthily. Frowning at the flush of pink along the backs of his knees, she nudges him indelicately.

“Turn over,” she mutters as she does the same. He complies wordlessly.

Jaime’s attitude toward Tormund is puzzling. Not because he’s behaving like an ass; he’s an ass to everyone. It’s something else, some underlying tension that makes her distinctly nervous. If it wasn’t a completely fucking ridiculous notion, she’d think he was jealous. Then again, that kind of fits his current pattern of weirdness. It’s all so baffling because she’s never seen him like this before.

Except that’s not entirely true. Brienne thinks back to when Drogo started hanging out with them, in particular the first night he came to a volleyball game.

She met Drogo during the second winter of grad school, shortly after deciding to jump in the deep end and pursue her doctorate in classic medieval literature. He opened a boxing gym in her neighborhood just in time to save her sanity. Between coursework, teaching and research, eating, sleeping, and the occasional act of socializing, weekly volleyball with the gang was the most exercise she was getting. After a lifetime of physical activity in open spaces, Brienne still wasn’t used to the hermit-like lifestyle of graduate school. Intramurals were an excellent outlet for her general rage at the world but the season was over until spring semester. With the days getting shorter and more of her time being spent in the library, Brienne was getting antsy. She felt like a bear in a cage. She felt like she needed to punch something.

Jaime had offered to let her use his upscale gym (because of course he had the deluxe membership with unlimited guest privileges) but no way would she subject herself to that mirror-walled meat market-slash-booty parade. Especially on her own, since Jaime was out of commission, laid up with a busted hand for most of the winter due to an unfortunate incident after a hockey game at Harrenhal Arena. Turns out even Jaime Lannister is occasionally held responsible for the things he says and the Qohori Black Goats don’t fuck around when it comes to trash talk. He was unbearable for weeks on end, bitching about his cast and pouting about his “maiming”. Granted, he’d almost lost three fingers and would end up with a gnarly network of scars covering his right hand, but their friendship was still fledgling enough that her sympathies were quickly maxed out by his boredom-sharpened tongue. Hence her need to punch something, if not someone.

Drogo’s no-nonsense gym caught her eye as soon as it opened down the block from the apartment she shared with Marg and Sansa. Whacking the crap out of dense, lumbering heavy bags quickly became a highlight of her week. He approached her about a month after she’d become a regular, introducing himself as the owner.

“You’re pretty tough on those bags. Wanna give it a shot in the ring?” he offered, quirking his head toward the regulation boxing ring that dominated the center of the space.

Brienne blushed, flattered if a bit intimidated by the invitation. She knew from the gym’s website that Drogo had been a champion boxer in Essos with more wins than losses, and no losses by KO. With a pragmatism Brienne could appreciate, he chose early retirement at thirty over going pro on the Westerosi circuit. Confident she’d done enough sparring at her dad’s gym back home to hold her own and not being one to back down from a challenge, she accepted with a nod.

An hour later they rested against the ropes, sweating intensely and catching their breath.

“You’re good,” he complimented her. “Strong.”

By that point she was so flushed from exertion, her blush was indiscernible. Small favors. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, forcing herself to meet his eyes instead of the floor.

“You could compete. I could train you.”

High praise from a guy who knew what he was talking about. Drogo didn’t suffer fools and he certainly didn’t tolerate bullshit, she could tell by the way he ran the gym and the workout he’d just put her through.

“Wow, that's…Thanks,” Brienne stuttered. “I would seriously consider it but I’m in the middle of grad school, it’s pretty much all-consuming at this point. This was great, though.”

“Well I’m usually around, let me know any time you want to spar, we’ll have a go.”

“Really? You’d put in that kind of time? I really don’t think I’ll reconsider training…”

He smiled. “Really. This was fun. It’s nice to touch hands with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Brienne flushed deeper but smiled anyway. It would be years before it ever occurred to her that maybe Drogo had been flirting a bit.

A few weeks later it felt natural to invite him to play volleyball. It didn’t occur to her to be embarrassed until after the words were out of her mouth. It’s not like she was asking him out, she just thought he was a nice guy and he’d enjoy himself. Up til then all her guy friends were either her roommates’ boyfriends, brothers, boyfriend’s brothers or brother’s boyfriends. It didn’t occur to her to be nervous about introducing someone new to the group, let alone a guy, until he actually showed up.

They played at a local rec center in winter. Jaime was relegated to the sidelines, unable to play with his hand in a cast but dragged along anyway in Tyrion’s attempt to prevent further wallowing. His typically surly commentary was embittered by his inability to drink alcohol while on pain killers, or rather Brienne’s inability not to break his other hand if he mixed the two. So his mood was already not great when Brienne showed up in a sports bra with a hot guy, sporting a spectacular yellow and purple bruise over her shoulder.

Loras gave an impressed whistle. “What is _that_?”

Brienne looked at him sharply, not sure if he meant her bruise or her guest. “Intense workout.”

“With what, a battering ram?”

She laughed. “Something like that. Guys, this is Drogo, he owns the gym I go to. Drogo, this is everyone.”

Even with a man bun at the nape of his neck (Drogo couldn’t be hipster if he tried), he was formidable in long shorts and a clingy tank top. The eyes of the straight girls and gay boys widened; the eyes of the straight boys narrowed.  

He held up a large cooler. “Where should I put the beer?”

Tyrion and Jon were all smiles after that, though Jaime remained a bit squinty. Margaery appreciatively grasped Drogo’s bicep and lead the way, inviting him to help set up the volleyball net.

“Well isn’t he a strapping one. Where’d you find him, hustling outside the Westerosi Wrestling Foundation?” Jaime asked snidely.

Brienne ignored his tone. “I told you, he owns my gym.”

He frowned at her bruised shoulder. “Did he give you that?”

She rolled her eyes. “We spar, Jaime. It’s physical. Shit happens. We wear gear, no serious hits to the face.”

“Not that it would make much of a difference,” he sniped cruelly.

Unprepared for the blow, Brienne took it like a champ. Most people wouldn’t even notice the slight inhale through her nose or tightening of her jaw.

“You know what, Jaime? Go fuck yourself.”

She ignored him throughout that entire game. He baited the new guy every chance he got but it all rolled right off Drogo’s insanely contoured back, which only ramped Jaime up more. But in the end he caved, more frustrated by Brienne’s silent treatment than Drogo’s impermeability. Drogo quickly became a regular on volleyball night and was soon absorbed into the group. Jaime mostly just ignored him. Even when he joined Drogo’s gym.

A spray of sand over Jaime’s back pulls Brienne out of her reverie. Tormund has plopped himself down on the sand next to them, chewing on one of several hot dogs now in his possession.

“So,” he asks through a mouthful, “how long have you two been together?”

They answer in unison. “Oh, we’re just friends,” Brienne says at the same time Jaime replies, “Five years.”

Brienne is so shocked by the magnitude of the lie, so confused as to why he’d say such a thing in the first place, and so embarrassed by everything in general that she loses the power of speech entirely. Tormund just raises his eyebrows and nods. Brienne gets up and walks away, ignoring both of them for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I definitely ham-fisted Jaime's hand into this chapter. I figured since I’m letting him keep it, I should at least give modern medicine its moment to shine (and gloss over the stuff I don’t want to deal with LOL).


	6. Scary Movie Night (Jaime)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally posting an update because I'm determined to accomplish at least one thing in life before this shit show called 2016 is finally fucking over. Thanks for all your lovely feedback, I really appreciate it!

Volleyball, swimming and their general tomfoolery concludes with a clambake at dusk. Then they pack it in and caravan to Margaery’s family’s beach house at the apex of Blackwater Bay, just south of King’s Landing, where the girls have spent part of every summer since freshman year. If walls could talk, none of them – Brienne included – would ever be elected to public office.

While everyone else jockeys for an indoor or outdoor shower, Jaime rinses sand, sweat and sea off with a garden hose and retreats to the veranda, perching himself atop a picnic table. A storm gathers over the bay as he plans his next move. 

The darkening sky sets the mood for Scary Movie Night. Dany picked tonight's flick so whatever it is, it’ll be bloody as hell. SMN became a “thing” after Stranger’s Eve a few years back and quickly turned into a monthly event. Jaime admits (if only to himself) this is a nice way to round out the day, if surprisingly low-key for Sansa, because vegging out isn’t really her style.

A muffled voice becomes clearer as it moves down the hallway towards the screen door behind him. He’s not eavesdropping but he knows Brienne doesn’t know he’s there as she speaks into her phone.

“I’ll already be there, obviously, but we can meet up after the main thing…Are you sure? It’s kind of a thankless role…” She laughs and he knows she’s talking to Tormund, who thankfully had to bail before the movie. “Well, that’ll be nice. I’ll see you then. OK. You too. Bye.”

Jaime rolls his eyes before looking over his shoulder to face her through the door.

“Got a hot date?” 

“Am I never allowed a moment’s privacy?” Her words are incongruous with her actions as she steps outside and joins him on the table.

“Well, wench, don’t go around having personal conversations in public spaces. I’m merely an innocent bystander, enjoying the marvels of nature.” He sweeps his arm towards the water as lightning turns gray clouds purple in the distance. “I thought you’d be too busy with wedding crap to start dating this week.”

What the fuck is he even saying? Why for the love of the Seven can he not keep his fucking mouth shut? 

Her predictable blush is his small consolation.

“That was just Tor. He wants to be my wedding date.”

Say what now?

Oblivious to his escalating speechlessness, Brienne continues as Jaime looks on in iron jawed silence. “I told him it’ll be a crappy date since I’ll probably be running all over the place but he’s a good guy, he can roll with it.” 

“He wants to be your date,” he says, dangerously calm.

“Yeah.” 

“To the wedding.”

She looks at him like he’s stupid. “Yeah. Is there a problem with that?”

“Brienne, _I’m_ your fucking date to the fucking wedding." 

Bewildered, she’s about to launch into denial mode when the look in his eyes chokes her silent.

“But we didn’t - we never talked about that!” she whisper-yells at him, trying not to draw attention from anyone inside.

“Since when do we talk about _anything_?” he hisses back at her.

 “Well what the hell – I didn’t think you’d want – “

“What? What wouldn’t I want?” He leans into her personal space, adrenaline surging through his system. “You?”

She pulls back sharply at his implication but he catches her waist to hold her still. He’s afraid she’ll bolt if he comes on too strong – after five years of hesitating, why rush now? – but he can’t ignore the low level panic that’s been rising in his gut since Tormund showed up.

For all that their lives overlap and intertwine, he’s very aware that they have no spoken commitments between them. Yet after Tyrion, Brienne is the most important person in his life. His father and sister have proven him disposable, cutting him out of their lives when his actions no longer pleased them. His golden armor of perfect hair and sarcasm alienates him from most everyone else. A key distinction is that Tyrion is family and therefore stuck with him for life; Brienne can tell him to fuck off at any given moment. And yet she hasn’t so far.

Not even after The Night That Almost Was. The night they never talk about.

When her father died suddenly late last spring, Brienne went into emotional lockdown for the week leading up to and after the funeral. No one knew what to do when she returned to King’s Landing, stoically despondent. They discussed staging some sort of grief intervention, which Jaime thought was stupid, but he was worried about her enough to play along. They chose the Tyrell’s beach house as neutral territory. Brienne took one look at her roommates, Jaime, and the rest of their friends crowded around the living room and walked right out the door. It was Jaime who followed her, argued with her, dragged her back to the house before they started brawling in the road.

In the end all it took was a cup of chamomile tea to break her down. Jaime had no idea swarthy, larger than life Selwyn Tarth was a tea drinker but the instant Sansa pressed the warm mug into Brienne’s too-cold hands and the floral steam wafted up to her face, the floodgates opened. Jaime kicked everyone out of the room.

An hour later everyone else had retreated to various upstairs bedrooms and Jaime and Brienne were slumped on the oversized couch, both of them exhausted from her emotional outpouring. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment their energy shifted. One minute he was soothingly stroking her wispy blond hair, her head resting on his chest as she took deep, calming breaths through her stuffed up nose. The next, she was nuzzling the side of his neck, arms around his waist, hands kneading his back. Unsure what was happening, he looked down at her and she kissed him. Not soft and hesitating, either; she really laid one on him with a force that blindsided him nearly as much as the kiss itself.

He couldn’t help responding, meeting her tongue with his, reveling in the silky strength of her muscular body writhing against his. He’d be lying if he said he’d never imagined this scenario playing out before. Of course in his imagination the moment wasn’t quite so grief stricken. When her fingers ran through his hair, blunt nails scraping along his scalp, he nearly threw her down on the sofa. With gargantuan amounts of self-control, Jaime came to his senses.

“Brienne… _gods_ ,” he groaned as she slid her hand under his t-shirt. He pulled back enough to see that her eyes were hooded with sadness, not lust. “Brienne, we have to stop.”

He rushed to reassure her when she recoiled, face contorted in rejection. “It’s not that I don’t want to.” He grabbed her chin, forced her to look at him while pressing her hand to his thigh, denim straining against his impressive erection. “I _want_ to,” he said pointedly. “But…I think maybe you won’t be able to look me in the eye tomorrow and I’m too selfish to let that happen. 

Fear of compromising their friendship pierced her veil of grief-induced lust and a new torrent of tears spilled hot down her face and into his shoulder as he pulled her to him again. They lay down on the couch as Brienne cried herself to sleep in his arms.

Jaime woke at dawn, alone. Another night with a warm woman wrapped in his arms. Another morning alone in a cold bed. Or couch, as it were. He never regretted his decision, though any musings about further amorous explorations were quashed by Brienne’s stubborn refusal to acknowledge anything happened in the first place. None of their friends were the wiser for what had possibly-almost-maybe transpired and life went on the same as before. If one more lonely morning was the cost of preserving their friendship, he’d gladly pay it. Jaime might not know much but he knows his worthless, broken self can’t afford to lose Brienne.

He feels the same now as he pins her gently to his chest, trying not to focus on the magnitude of risk he’s about to take. He’s not staking a claim, he’s stating his intention when he inches closer still, maintaining eye contact until his lips press against hers, firm yet undemanding. He suckles her lower lip, his tongue a brief caress, before pulling back, letting go, giving her space. He watches her struggle to regain her equilibrium.

“What are you _doing?_ ” she finally spits out, shoving at his shoulder but not moving away.

Jaime just grins, trying to mask the panicked beating of his heart. He leans in, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t want me to kiss you?” Brienne sputters a bit but doesn’t actually give a coherent response. “Then shut it.”

His follow up kiss is more of a quick smooch. “Come on, they’re starting the movie.”

Brienne is dazed enough to let him tow her along until the chatter of their friends jars her back to reality. She shakes off his hand and hightails it to her favorite seat, a beat up recliner at the back of the family room. Everyone else is already assembled, lights are dimmed, snack bowls distributed, opening credits rolling. 

With typical lack of forethought Jaime plops himself on top of Brienne’s reclining form, insinuating his hips between hers. Her nearly flat chest allows him to lay his back flush against her. He notices they fit together perfectly, his head nestled against her shoulder, her chin in his hair. Everyone pretends to ignore them, for which he is eternally grateful. He’s barely pulling this off as it was; he will definitely lose by committee.


	7. Scary Movie Night (Brienne pt 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as angst-ridden as things will get in this story. Mild warning for mentions of abortion. Also, Cersei is discussed but does not appear. This was my monster chapter so I’ve chopped it into two parts for dramatic effect. Posting both chapters at the same time for instant gratification purposes and because the second part is short-ish.

Brienne sighs in exasperated defeat as Jaime nestles against her in the recliner. She can unseat him if she puts some effort into it – and he will make it necessary to require effort – but she’s still a bit stunned by the sense memory of his tongue on her mouth. It's just easier to capitulate. Besides, their positioning makes it easy for her to hide her eyes in his neck during the scary bits. And also, well, she has a lapful of warm Jaime Lannister and it feels too fucking good against her weary, sun battered body.

Normally Jaime sits on the floor next to her. Marg once joked that it made it easier for Brienne to pet him.

“I don’t _pet him_ ,” Brienne huffed in outrage. Marg quirked an eyebrow. “…OK, maybe I do. Ew, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“I don’t blame you,” Marg said without judgment. “With hair like his, how can you _not_?

Brienne finally arrived at the snappy comeback she needed a minute earlier. “Besides, everyone pets him! Women are constantly pawing at his hair.”

Margaery gave her a pitying oh-you-sweet-summer-child look. “He barely tolerates it from me and Loras, Bri. And he actively avoids it from strangers and acquaintances. Have you ever seen his face? His skin crawls.”

Brienne was usually too busy juggling irrational jealousy and frustrated desire to consider Jaime’s feelings in those moments. But he’s the narcissist. Great.

While Jaime using her as a body pillow in public isn’t exactly new, it’s not particularly typical, either. A variety of knowing looks are being exchanged around the room. Brienne would really like to know what they seemingly know because she’s clueless. Especially after what just happened outside, which no one else is even aware of. _What the fuck is happening?_ she wonders for the millionth time that day.

Obviously there’s no way she’s going to be able to pay attention to the movie, which is probably a good thing because they’re only five minutes in and it already looks pretty gross. Dany’s picks are always the grossest.

Brienne tries to replay their out-of-the-blue kiss on the IMAX screen of her imagination but full body contact with the secret love of her life makes it impossible to concentrate. Honestly, Jaime’s reaction to Tormund asking her out was more astonishing than the fact that he kissed her. Thinking back, she realizes he wasn’t even actually mad at Tormund, he was mad – and maybe hurt? – at _her_ for saying yes. She tries to think of a similar occurrence in their history to compare this to and realizes there is none because neither of them date or generally express interest in other people.

The thought draws her up short.

Granted, there was that one time that the thing almost happened and luckily did not, thanks to Jaime snapping her out of it, but that didn’t count. Though she certainly thinks of The Night That Would Never Be Mentioned often enough. Miscalculated advances notwithstanding, even Brienne, the socially awkward tow-headed plank with a face only a widowed father could love, has to admit that Jaime’s behavior over the course of the day can only be characterized as expressing interest. In her, apparently.

She reflects on her very short list of romantic partners. Tormund is the most significant in terms of duration, clocking in at two months, and breadth of…experience. Jaime only counts for the two kisses they’ve shared, the second one having occurred less than an hour ago. Other than them there’s really just Hyle, who she hates to consider at all.

She met Hyle Hunt during sophomore year at KLU in the advanced seminar The Three Faces of Visenya: Warrior, Mother, Crone. It was the class that inspired her to pursue graduate studies in medieval history. Hyle was one of the exceedingly attentive guys in her study group. By the time she figured out they had a betting pool to see who could nail her first, she and Hyle had been dating for a month. Thankfully she’d been holding out so they hadn’t actually “done the deed” yet. He tried to explain but she busted his lip and knocked his dick in the dirt before he could get a word in edgewise. She chose not to report the incident and instead kicked each of their individual asses, calling it even.

She bumped into Hyle about two months ago at a regional conference in Dorne, right around the time Jaime started acting weird. Invigorated by the exchange of ideas among her peers and academic idols, Brienne threw caution to the wind and took Hyle up on his offer of a drink at the open bar. He didn’t leave a tip; she wasn’t surprised.

Brienne had to admit he looked good, his wavy brown hair now shoulder length, attractive stubble coating his face. He was an adjunct professor at a small university in the Stormlands, where they’d both grown up. He’d gotten his Maester’s degree there too. Back in the day, the girls had had a vengeful toast when he wasn’t accepted into KLU’s graduate program.

“His GRE scores were as small as his dick,” Margaery cackled into her third margarita.

“That doesn’t even make any sense, Marg!” Which didn’t stop Brienne from laughing beer through her nose.

She wasn’t that surprised when he tried to sweet talk her at the conference. She decided to give him as long as it took to finish her gin and tonic. He tried to validate his awful behavior in college by claiming he’d actually liked her and was confident she’d go out with him, in which case it would be her boyfriend winning the bet, which would be a hilarious “fuck you” to the rest of the guys. All these years later he still didn’t get how not hilarious any of it was. Still, she didn’t want to hold a grudge, it was too exhausting. In his own twisted way, he hadn’t meant to hurt her. So she agreed to meet up with him the next time she visited home.

She has yet to tell the girls about either her encounter with Hyle or their future plans. It will not go over well. She certainly hasn’t mentioned it to Jaime, who will probably threaten to hunt him down and punch him out, which is what he’d wanted to do when she’d confided her story to him years ago. The irony is that Jaime’s sort of responsible for her agreeing to go out with Hyle in the first place, in a roundabout way.

It was a dark and stormy night three years ago when Jaime showed up on her doorstep unannounced, bedraggled and despondent, water streaming down his haggard face, every inch of him soaked through.

“Jaime!” she exclaimed, terrified someone was dead. “What happened? Jaime, what’s wrong?”

His hollow stare went right through her. “There was a baby. There could’ve been a baby.”

She shook him by the shoulders. “What are you talking about? Jaime!” Clinging to exasperation as a coping mechanism to avoid panic, Brienne pulled him into the apartment and up to her room. The girls were out so they had the place to themselves.

She handed him a towel, sweatpants, and a t-shirt but he just stood there, dripping on them. Brienne was completely at a loss. Finally, she took the clothes back and stripped him down, running the towel through his hair and over his body as he stood there in silence, just staring into space, letting her undress him. The panic was definitely starting to creep in now, so much so that she wasn’t even able to appreciate his nakedness.

“Jaime, put some pants on.”

He didn’t seem to realize that he was buck naked in the middle of her bedroom. His complete lack of reaction was freaking her out. He obligingly dressed himself but continued to just stand there. She took his hand and led him to the bed, pulling him down to sit on the edge beside her. She kept his hand clasped in hers. 

“Jaime? Jaime, I need you to tell me what’s going on. You said there was a baby. What baby, Jaime?”

He finally looked her in the eye. “Cersei’s.”


	8. Scary Movie Night (Brienne pt 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as angst-ridden as things will get in this story. Mild warning for mentions of abortion. Also, Cersei is discussed but does not appear. This was my monster chapter so I’ve chopped it into two parts for dramatic effect. Posting both chapters at the same time for instant gratification purposes and because this part is short-ish.

The bottom dropped out of Brienne’s stomach when Jaime said his sister’s name. Rumors were circulating years before she’d ever met him and she’d certainly witnessed enough dysfunctional family tension to know there was some messed up history between Jaime and his twin sister. She was pretty sure their…break up or whatever was the cause of the drunken dickhead phase he was going through when she first met him. So as shocking as this revelation was, she wasn’t entirely surprised. She’d thought it was over, though.

Commanding her voice not to waver, she said, “You said there could’ve been a baby. Cersei…lost the baby?”

He shook his head.

“She had an abortion?”

“Three,” he replied hoarsely. “She had three abortions.”

At which point he cracked into a million pieces, slumping to his knees and weeping into her lap as she stroked his hair and back, murmuring noises of comfort.

“What is wrong with me?” he groaned. “Why do I still love her?”

Brienne allowed her own tears to fall as her heart broke for him. Eventually she pulled him onto the bed to lay beside her. She held him close, still stroking his hair, taking deep breaths so that he could match them and calm down. In a voice rough as gravel Jaime spewed their entire sordid history upon her, from its adolescent beginnings in a lonely house with a cold, intractable father and no mother, through the first ten years of her marriage to Renly’s boorish brother Robert, until Jaime finally walked away with what little self-respect he had left.

Strangely, the first thing Brienne thought was that even when choosing a romantic partner, Jaime was a total narcissist. He essentially partnered himself with his spitting image in female form. Yet through the absurdity of it all, Brienne already knew she would accept this new facet of Jaime. How could she not? It was a part of him. It happened. There were reasons. It was over, had been over for years. He is who he is, who she knows him to be. She could only consider the man before her and she would not judge her friend.

He only found out about the terminated pregnancies because Cersei drunk dialed him after discovering Robert had fathered a variety of bastards around town, unbeknownst to her all these years. She railed against the humiliating injustice of it all, especially considering “the lengths to which she’d gone” to prevent the same thing. Her phrasing struck Jaime as odd so he asked what she meant. He wished she never told him.

“You didn’t think I would bring children into that marriage, did you?” she asked Jaime, incredulous. “It’s not like he’d know they weren’t his. They would tie me to him for eternity.”

Jaime groaned again.

“I know how fucked up it sounds, believe me, I know. But I loved her. I’ve been in love with her for most of my life. I don’t think I know how not to be in love with her. Oh my god I’m so fucked up,” he despaired into her pillow.

Brienne continued to soothe him, though every word was a dagger in her heart. She’d never believed Jaime to be in love with her and she wasn’t totally convinced what she felt for him was romantic love anyway, but still, it was painful to learn how much of him truly belonged to someone else.

She woke up alone the following morning. The other side of the bed was cold. She found Jaime downstairs having coffee with Sansa and Margaery, all three of them laughing their heads off about something. It wasn’t unusual for him to crash there on occasion so his early morning presence wasn’t particularly scandalous.

“Morning, wench. Thanks for bailing me out last night.” He toasted her with his coffee mug. The girls gaped at him. “Not literally,” he assured them. “I was pretty messed up and Bri Bri helped me cry it out. ’Preciate it.”

Brienne gave them a tight smile, not sure if this mask of cheerfulness was for her roommates’ benefit or if this was how he was going to play off the night before. “Sure. No problem.”

Sensing something was up, Marg and Sansa skedaddled pretty quickly. Brienne immediately launched into smother mode, fluttering around Jaime, offering to make him breakfast, or go out for breakfast, or order breakfast in. When he said he wasn’t hungry, she started in on how he needed to take better care of himself, and maybe he shouldn’t be drinking coffee because caffeine dehydrates you, and he should probably be drinking water instead, until finally he snapped.

“Fucking hells Brienne, last time I checked I didn’t have a mother or a wife. Back the fuck off.”

It was like he slapped her. Something about the way he said her name instead of calling her “wench” made it worse. He was immediately contrite, apologizing all over himself, both for emotionally vomiting on her that night and for exploding just then. She knew he meant it and she immediately forgave him, but in that moment a part of her shut down for good.

Brienne loved Jaime deeply. His friendship would always be meaningful and important to her. But the pain she felt at his words revealed just how deep the hurt could go and she couldn’t leave herself exposed like that, not to someone who was never going to feel the same way. There had to be a part of her he couldn’t touch. It was the only way to be his friend and preserve her sanity.

After that, things continued much as they had before. Their bond had even been strengthened by the subsequent unburdening Jaime felt after his confession; his relationship with his sister was not just a secret he’d kept for over twenty years, it was a secret from Brienne. So they were good. But any unlikely fantasies Brienne might have entertained about a “someday” scenario between them were killed dead. She wasn’t going to wait for him to come around and she wasn’t going to close herself off from future happiness. She made a promise that if an opportunity presented itself she would allow herself to take it, even if it steered her away from Jaime. Hence, Hyle’s second chance.

Brienne’s pretty sure Jaime has come around now. The question is, is she willing to open that part of herself back up to him?


	9. Mini Golf, or How Jaime Met Brienne (Multiple POVs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short-ish couple of chapters so I'm double posting. Way less angst this time, I swear! 
> 
> This will totally date me but the mini golf course idea was inspired by the Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell more-charming-than-rapey comedy classic(?) Overboard.

Sansa dated guys all through college. Her taste was…not great. Her two longest relationships were borderline abusive; the shortest (no pun intended) was Tyrion. Brienne and Margaery were baffled by all three. Tyrion was sort of the wildest choice, though in all fairness, the more conventional types hadn’t done Sansa any good. Fueled by vulnerability, insecurity, and confusion, she initially turned to Tyrion for platonic academic guidance. Tyrion, as TA for the advanced history course Clash of Kings: The History of Warfare in Westeros, which Sansa, Brienne, and Margaery were taking together in their final semester as undergrads, was happy to oblige.

Tyrion had a ladykiller reputation around campus but was a paragon of professionalism when it came to dealing with students, even a hottie like Sansa. There was no funny business until after the semester was over and she was a bachelor degree-wielding graduate, free of any teacher/student-type restrictions. 

It started because Sansa missed talking to him. Tyrion, almost ten years older than her, was the first adult to treat her like an adult. He respected her as a person, not just because of her looks (though she could tell he was definitely interested), and she found that to be an attractive quality. In addition to his actual attractiveness, because Tyrion was quite handsome.

A couple of innocuous “how’s your summer going, hey I read this cool book” emails led to a few “let’s meet up for coffee” texts, which eventually turned into a “we should go out sometime” conversation. They agreed that a group date with friends would be the least awkward approach as Sansa was still gun shy about dating and Tyrion felt a bit lecherous, given their age difference. 

Proclaiming himself a mini golf master, Tyrion proposed The Wonders of Westeros Championship Mini Golf Extravaganza for a night of silly fun. The invitation list quickly escalated from Sansa’s roommates to include their college friends Dany and Ygritte, as well as Loras, Renly, and Jon, who was at nearby rival Baelor University back then. Tyrion’s life mostly revolved around teaching and research so he didn’t have a large friend pool to draw from. He called in a favor with his college carousing pal Bronn, who could always be counted on to liven up any event. He also demanded his brother make an appearance, mostly so he could keep an eye on him. Jaime was in his “hot mess shit show” stage of life just then and required a certain amount of direct supervision. Also, being nearly fifteen years older than the girls, Tyrion appeared less lecherous than his brother by comparison.

While Sansa and Tyrion merrily led the way through the Wonders of Westeros, all manner of chaos pursued them. Margaery shadowed Sansa all night, an uncharacteristic frown creased between her eyes; Dany kept a speculative eye on Tyrion, mostly to make sure he behaved himself but also because she was kind of checking him out (they would date briefly the following spring); and Jon and Ygritte bicker/bantered their way through the entire course, oblivious to everyone around them (which was business as usual).

Loras kept gravitating toward Renly, who was on a sort-of-but-maybe-not-really date with Brienne, who felt like an oversized third wheel. And for good reason, as Renly was being a complete shit for definitely-sort-of-maybe leading her on and then ditching her for Loras. It would take a while for those two to reconcile their private and public lives.

Enter Jaime Lannister, four holes late and three sheets to the wind. By this time Brienne was trailing the group in order to better wallow in her misery. She suddenly found herself pitched torso-first into a stuffed aurochs outside the Highgarden hedge maze, narrowly avoiding a pierced spleen as Jaime stumbled into her. 

“Whoah man, sorry ’bout that,” he slurred drunkenly.

If she was caught off guard by the appearance of this green eyed, golden haired god-like creature, the whisky on his breath quickly brought her back to reality.

Brienne scowled. “I hope you didn’t drive here,” she said with imperious disdain.

Jaime tilted back on his heels precariously. “Holy shit, you’re a woman!”

She immediately turned and walked away. Jaime caught up.

“I’d apologize but you’re probably used to that sort of thing.”

She stopped so abruptly, he collided with her back.

“Why would that mean you shouldn’t apologize for being a rude twat?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Because I’m sure you of all people have probably learned by now that words are wind,” he explained loftily. “Insults, apologies, what do any of them mean in the end? You know you’re a special snowflake so what the fuck does it matter what I say?”

Brienne was debating whether to punch him or ignore him when Tyrion finally intervened.

“Brienne, _my dear friend_ ,” he enunciated for Jaime’s benefit, “I see you’ve met my brother Jaime.”

The rest of the night went as well as could be expected under the circumstances. At least Jaime’s fixation on annoying the shit out of Brienne distracted her from Renly. With Tyrion as chaperone, Jaime never hit below the belt – not that first night, anyway – so Brienne wasn’t moved to violence.

She was, however, quite surprised to discover Tyrion’s big brother was _the_ Jaime Lannister, famed usurper of the legendary Aerys Targaryen. Everyone in academic circles knew the story of brash young Jaime Lannister destroying his mentor’s reputation. Brienne wouldn’t learn the truth until much later, during their first soul-baring drunken confessional in the Tyrell beach house hot tub after a Targaryan Independence Day bash. Until then, she painted him with the same brush as everyone else: Kingslayer.

But if it was news that Jaime was related to Tyrion – who often referred to his brother but never by name, and made no mention of a sister – it came as absolutely no surprise that he was an asshole. And the gods knew she could handle assholes; she had been for her whole life so far. It just took a little while to realize there were no assholes quite like Jaime.


	10. Mini Golf (Brienne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have beefed this chapter up with hilarious mini golf high jinks but it stubbornly remained short. Double posted with the previous chapter. Guys, Jaime is positively chivalrous!

As it turned out, Sansa and Tyrion’s first date was also their last. After spending the evening around her and Margaery, he knew something was up. His personality was such that the next time they met for coffee he asked enough leading questions to get Sansa to admit out loud, for the first time, that she had feelings for her best friend. He gave her a great deal of unsolicited advice, half of which she took to heart, in particular the confidence-boosting tidbit that he believed her feelings to be reciprocated, and they settled into a lifelong best friendship.

While volleyball became their primary group “thing”, the Wonders of Westeros remained a solid standby over the years. Drogo, Tysha, and the witnesses to the Date of Staggering Magnitude (as Tyrion likes to call it) reminisce over a round of shots in The Dragonpit, the not-so-mini bar in the center of the course.

“Remember the time Tyrion tried jousting on that stuffed pig in the Red Keep?”

“Or when Ygritte dared Jon to climb over the Wall?”

“Oh man, how ‘bout that Frey douchebag who got into it with Sansa’s mom and brother over at The Twins?”

Sansa shakes her head in remembered horror. “It was a massacre.”

 “What about when Brienne fell into the bear pit?”

Everyone toasts that particular memory with gusto. Brienne falling into the bear pit is everyone’s personal favorite. Well, except maybe Brienne’s. 

One night Brienne got super drunk and fell into the bear pit display at the Ruins of Harrenhal. An equally drunk Jaime dove in after her, fending off the fearsome taxidermied bear with Brienne’s golf club until she dragged him out, much to everyone’s amused delight.

Jon turns to Jaime. “Didn’t you get into a fight with one of my frat brothers at the bear pit once?”

All eyes are on Jaime, who is slowly draining his beer in order to avoid the story. Tyrion is having none of it.

“I think you’re right, Jon Boy. There was definitely a scuffle with some douchey ginger.”

“I don’t remember that,” Brienne says with a frown. For all his talk, Jaime’s not usually prone to violence.

“Holy crap, I forgot all about that! It was the semester you spent up at the Vale last year, Bri,” Margaery pipes up, side eyeing Jaime, who is now out of beer.

“Which frat brother?” Loras asks Jon.

“Ron Connington.” 

Brienne chokes on her drink. “You got in a fight with Ron Connington?” she sputters. 

Jaime shrugs noncommittally.

“What for?”

Another shrug is his only answer as his eyes shift away. Of all people, why would Jaime hit Ron? What was Ron even doing in King’s Landing? Last she heard, her worst memory from high school was selling insurance back on Tarth.

The specifics suddenly come back to Jon. “Actually, I think it was about you, Brienne. Ron was being pretty vile,” he admitted. “Jaime clocked him, busted his face up pretty good.”

Brienne’s eyes are popping out of her head while Jaime continues to avoid eye contact with everyone in general and Brienne in particular. 

“You punched Red Ronnet in the face for me?” she asks softly.

Jaime clears his throat uncomfortably, looks at the floor, shrugs again. “He was talking shit.” His stupid not-a-care-in-the-world smirk slowly slides back up his face, though his eyes seem…shy? “Nobody talks shit about you. Except me.”

Brienne doesn’t know what to say. Jaime isn’t a total pig but there are days when the basics of human decency escape him. To learn of this act of chivalry more than a year after the fact, in front of all their friends, is a bit overwhelming. She could be annoyed with him for fighting her battles but knows that’s not fair. Combined with the rest of his behavior this weekend, she has to admit she’s touched by the gesture.

By this point they’re being studiously ignored by their friends (not that either of them notice) and have been left to bring up the rear while the rest of the group plays on. Jaime looks up at the next hole, a scale model castle perched atop a towering craggy cliff. Everything is painted red and gold except for two stuffed lions reclining at the base.

“Is this supposed to be Casterly Rock?” Jaime frowns at this “artistic” rendering of his family’s ancestral seat. He is clearly unimpressed.

Brienne rolls her eyes. “Gee, what gave it away? How have you never seen this before?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve ever made it to the back five whilst sober.”

Jaime is mostly shit at mini golf and usually winds up in The ’Pit halfway through the course. He tried to sneak off earlier but Brienne wouldn’t let him get away with lone wolfing it this time. Which is pretty much a defining aspect of their relationship: Brienne takes a stand and tells Jaime what to do; Jaime bitches and moans, then does exactly what she says.

“What a monstrosity,” he says of the Rock.

“It _is_ pretty ridiculous,” Brienne agrees, “but the cave underneath is kind of cool.”

They follow their putts through the base of the “cliff”, which is fashioned into a cozy grotto-type setting, complete with a turquoise-dyed waterfall. Bodily proximity and the amplified sound of rushing water in an enclosed space creates an intimate atmosphere. Brienne shivers, eyes wide in the dancing blue light, as she realizes he’s staring at her with an odd expression on his face. Is he going to kiss her again?

“What?” she asks, semi alarmed.

Jaime shakes the look off his face. “Nothing, nothing. I just…I think I dreamed of you. Here, in this light.”

Having no response to _that_ , Brienne blushes to the roots of her hair and smacks her ball out of the cramped cave, finishing under par and high tailing it to the next hole. Jaime watches her go, a furrow in his brow.


	11. Frogg's Spot (Jaime pt 1)

Jaime thinks Brienne is kind of ignoring him. She’s acting skittish, more awkward than usual, and she’s barely looked him in the eye since they all met up again after mini golf. He’d felt optimistic after she found out he punched Ron Connington. He hadn’t wanted her to know about it but once she did, he felt tremendously gratified. But then he’d gotten weird near that stupid fake waterfall and she ran off.

He could kick himself for not keeping his mouth shut but he was sort of overtaken by the moment. It was the weirdest thing, he hadn’t even thought of that dream in ages but between the blue water rippling light over her face, the way she towered over him in close quarters, her wide blue eyes swallowing him whole, he couldn’t help himself. At least he didn’t tell her she was naked in the dream. He didn’t want to scare her off completely.

So he’s choosing to give her some space even though it’s fucking killing him. He’s starting to feel like maybe she’s not as open to this…whatever he’s trying to do as he’d thought, maybe she’s just going to let him dangle in the wind. Following her lead, he stays polite and jokey and keeps his hands to himself. He’s not sure it’s getting him anywhere as he watches Tormund lean into her from across a crowded barroom.

Out of everything on Sansa’s stupid itinerary, this was the only event Jaime actually looked forward to. Frogg’s Spot was a King’s Landing institution, the first bar where he’d ever used a fake ID (not that they bothered checking), the first alley he’d puked in, the first place he saw Brienne dance.

It wasn’t nearly as awkward a sight as he would’ve imagined, though “dancing” might be too strong a word to describe what she was doing. It was more like athletic swaying. It was the same night they first saw The Nerd Herd, a small time cover band made up of four beefy Dothraki dudes wearing thick rimmed glasses and white button down short sleeve shirts that might’ve looked dorky if they weren’t two sizes too small and clinging to bulging biceps. They played popular rock hits that triggered everyone’s high school nostalgia, regardless of generation. The place was packed and literally everyone was jumping around like a goofball, even Brienne. It was the most uninhibited he’d ever seen her outside of a volleyball court. Or a body of water, but he tried not to think of that.

Their whole group turns out every time The Nerd Herd plays Frogg’s. The show never changes much, same songs, same high energy, same beer buzz followed by copious amounts of greasy food at the Weirwood Diner. A consistently good time is always had by all. Though Jaime is starting to wonder if their perfect record will be broken tonight.

The place is crowded, bursting with the noisy hubbub of people waiting for the second set to start. Jaime is leaning against the wall across from the bar, the stage to his right. Brienne’s sitting at the bar, wearing a fucking _dress_ for fuck’s sake, and even from a distance he’s pretty sure she’s wearing thigh high fucking stockings. He watches Tormund’s fingers brush over _that_ spot on Brienne’s neck, the spot that Jaime stoically avoids for fear of finishing what it starts. He watches Brienne not pull away from the big musk ox’s touch. His grip tightens around his empty beer bottle but he stays where he is. He watches her hand on the man’s arm, watches her mouth near his ear, watches Tormund’s laughing response to her words.

Another beer is thrust into Jaime’s hand. How long has Drogo been standing there? Jaime realizes Tyrion, Renly and Loras are loitering nearby as well. Are they having a bro moment? Is that what this is? Are they bro-ing out? He expects his brother to hover in times of crisis but the other guys don’t exactly have a vested interest in him. He’s known Renly since the kid was actually a kid, so they’ve sort of got history. Loras is also a writer so their thing is more of a professional respect that’s developed over the years, though he wouldn’t have necessarily classified them as friends until now.  

Drogo’s a different story. Not only is he not a tangential family member or KLU alum, he’s a straight dude who spends quality alone time with Brienne. Not that Jaime’s jealous. He always figured Drogo was a good guy, they just dislike each other on principle. That Brienne, a girl neither of them is dating, might have something to do with that is a thought Jaime has left unexamined. They’ve maintained a prickly peace over the years, this weekend marking a decided shift in their friendship. It’s when shit goes down that loyalties are tested and true colors shine through. Jaime is reassured to know that when it counts, Drogo’s got his back.

His new BFF nudges his shoulder and nods toward the bar. Brienne is giving her persistent suitor the brush off, Jaime can tell by her body language and the yielding (though still self-assuredly smiling) expression on the fuckwad’s face. Jaime approaches her as soon as Tormund walks away. He’s got no game plan, just gut instinct. He’s almost to her when she nervously crosses her legs, fidgeting with the hem of her short little black dress, inadvertently offering a glimpse of lace at the top of her stockings, which are indeed thigh high. And what a thigh it is. His mouth is very, very dry. Her dress is sleeveless and silky, accented with black mesh from the top of her bust to her shoulders. From his vantage point standing next to her he can see she’s wearing a strapless bra, a skimpy black lacy thing that makes him wonder if she’s wearing matching panties. It becomes his mission in life to find out.  

She looks at him expectantly but he struggles to form the right words. He’s not even sure what he wants to say. This is why he’s been restless and impatient around her for the last couple months. It’s partly due to _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ , the book he’s mostly finished but hasn’t told her he’s even started. So that secret is certainly contributing to his general feelings of shittiness. But there’s something else, something intangible that makes his shoulders tense when he’s near her. He can’t pin it down and that annoys him.

He’s tried to keep a lid on it, not take his frustrations out in razor-edged sarcasm. There’ve been a couple of times he’s let it slip, responding to some innate act of goodness on her part with a crack about her height or her freckles. He never gets really mean anymore but his bark still has bite. The worst part is always her response, or lack thereof. She never acts hurt, never calls him out; she just gets quiet, disengages. Which makes him feel worse than anything. Sometimes it’s almost like he’s _trying_ to get a rise out of her, antagonize her to the point where she _has_ to say something, do something, tell him to go fuck himself, give him an iota of her feelings for him.

He knows they hold great affection for each other, would do pretty much anything the other one needed, but all of a sudden those words don’t feel… _enough_ to contain who they are. He’s pretty sure she’s been in love with him for a long time. He also knows she holds that part of herself away from him. And suddenly he’s angry that any walls remain between them at all.

“You’re dressed like a girl for a change.” Because why would he tell her she looks nice? He hates himself.

She scowls. “Marg and Sansa made me wear it. They declared this a Fancy Dress Night.”

“I think the lesbos are matchmaking.” With whom exactly, he still isn’t sure.

The lights dim and the crowd starts shrieking as The Nerd Herd take the stage for their final set, tuning their instruments. Jaime grabs Brienne’s arm and pulls her toward the back of the bar, relieved when she lets him. He snakes his way through the crowd to the shadowy hallway that separates the stage from the pool tables and dartboards in back. She draws him up short outside the ladies’ room, which thank the gods doesn’t have a line. Low lighting makes the space oddly private now that the show is in full swing, insulated by the pulsing bass of the band.

Still gripping her wrist, he backs her up against the wall. She’s too surprised to react so he presses his advantage and kisses her. Reckless, maybe. Worth it, definitely. For a fraction of a second, she succumbs. Muscles relax, hands clutch at his shoulders, her tongue meets his with gentle force and every doubt he’s ever had evaporates.

Then she shoves him away, eyes confused and accusing. “What the fuck, Jaime? What are you _doing_?” She doesn’t only mean the kissing.

 “Making up for lost time,” he evades, trying not to grind into her and only kind of succeeding.

“Is this about Tor?”

“No, this is not about _Tor_ ,” he sneers in his super snarkiest tone.

She raises an eyebrow. “Very convincing." 

He takes a breath, gets his shit together. “No, this is not about Tormund the Wildling Sex God.”

Brienne can’t help laughing at that. “Is it because our friends are getting married? Are you being a girl because a wedding is coming?”

“This is not about our friends getting married.” He steals a kiss, trails his lips down her neck, slowly creeping toward _that_ spot but avoiding it still.

“Is it because you’re turning forty?” she gasps.

He pulls his mouth away from her clavicle with a laugh. The rest of him is pressed flush against her from chest to knees. His breath is warm on her skin when he confesses in her ear, “I don’t want to tell you because I’m afraid you’ll get mad and not let me fuck you in the bathroom.” He grinds his erection into her and attaches his mouth to _that spot._  

Her knees buckle. “ _Jaime_.”

“ _Bri_ enne.”

“Tell me.”

He stills his body, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment before pulling back far enough to look her in the eye. “OK, fine, wench. It’s because…I love you and have finally realized that we should have done this a long time ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frogg’s is based on [Toad’s Place,](https://twitter.com/toadsplace) a New Haven institution frequented by me & my volleyball playing college friends every time [The Nerds](http://www.the-nerds.com/) came to town (not exactly a beefy group of guys but awesome nonetheless:)


	12. Frogg's Spot (Jaime pt 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the rating change, people. Awwwww yeah bow-chicka-wow-wow!

Brienne stares at him in wide-eyed silence. He considers it a “win” when she doesn’t punch him in the face.

“Why would I get mad?” is her response to the most vulnerable pronouncement of his life.

“Because I have shit timing and zero impulse control?”

Her hands slide from his shoulders down his chest, then up behind his neck and into his hair. There’s a look in her eyes he’s never seen before and it does things to him. She leans down to whisper, “Sometimes I like your lack of impulse control.”

For a split second he’s incapable of breathing, let alone speech, but he recovers in record time and yanks her into the three-stalled ladies’ room, immediately pinning her against the door. He groans into her throat as he pulls her leg around his waist, her short dress riding up enough to expose her matching panties (mission accomplished) and allow his denim-clad erection to grind indecently against her. 

The electricity of his touch jolts through her. She pauses briefly, until a “fuck it” look crosses her face and she shoves him roughly against the adjacent wall, slamming her body into his with a crushing kiss. They crash into the wall-mounted condom dispenser with enough force to eject a small jackpot of rainbow colored packets. They stare briefly in lust-hazed befuddlement at the bounty of their prophylactic slot machine before Jaime snatches them up and pulls her into the last stall. He’s got her up against the wall again and plans to defend his position. He knows she’s into it but can feel lingering doubts and insecurities in the tautness of her body. His current game plan entails kissing the living daylights out of her so that she’s too stunned to be rational. He presses his case between kisses.

“I know we have a lot to talk about…”

A small peck on her jaw.

“Like, _so much_ to talk about…”

A tiny lick against her throat.

“But you feel sooo amazing...”

A nibble on her earlobe.

“And this has been _such_ a long time coming…”

A delicate suckle on the side of her neck, just above _that_ spot.

“I’m hoping we can chalk the last five years up to foreplay and get on with it.”

He returns to her mouth, reveling in the press of her wide, thick lips and the heat of her tongue as it counters his with equal desperation. This time her leg wraps around his waist of its own volition. He drags his mouth away to meet her eyes. Lazy eyelids and kiss-swollen lips give him all the answers he needs. 

She slides her hand down his arm, rolling her hips against him as she takes one of the packets from his hand and slowly tears it open. Eyes never leaving her face, Jaime frantically unfastens his jeans and shoves them down his thighs. What should have been awkward turns heated as she tugs at his boxers to free him, carefully rolling the condom over his thickened cock. It’s not the first time she’s seen him naked but it’s the first she’s ever touched him like this and he almost comes in her hands right then. 

Their eyes lock as they work together to push aside her panties, align their bodies, and finally join the only parts of themselves they’ve withheld from each other. He slides into her and feels like he is home. 

They stand frozen for a moment, as physically close as they can be, his hands cupping her lace covered ass, his shoulders wrapped in her vise-like grip. Their heartbeats sync and they shiver at the throb of their shared pulse in the place where they’re joined.

The insanity of the moment threatens to overtake him. If they were like what he imagines a normal couple was like, they’d be tenderly making love on his king size bed or at least in a swanky hotel room. There might even be candles. Not being normal, they’re standing in a dive bar toilet. It occurs to him that while they may very well be on the precipice of walking into the proverbial sunset together, he may never get another chance to fuck Brienne in a dive bar toilet. So he might as well make it count.

He sets a rigorous pace which of course she immediately matches and it is absolute fucking bliss. Partly due to their pathological pursuit of one-upmanship, partly due to five years of unresolved sexual tension evaporating with violent force, their tempo quickens until he’s pounding her into the wall, protecting her hips with his arms. The thumping bass of the concert masks their escalating grunts and moans. Her head is thrown back, mouth open, eyes closed; his face is buried in her neck. She cries out his name when she comes. Her standing knee buckles and he hooks his elbow under her leg, supporting her against the wall with his still-thrusting pelvis. He holds still within her for three breaths, allowing gravity to pull her down over every centimeter of him until he’s fully embedded within her spasming cunt. He rolls his hips once, twice, then groans into her shoulder as he follows her into bliss.

In the brief lull that follows, filled with panting silence, Jaime lowers Brienne’s legs so she can stand. They adjust themselves and their clothing accordingly. Her body is already rigid with tension. Jaime knows he only has seconds before she launches into “fight or flight” mode but he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and fuck things up. _This_ is why fucking in a dive bar bathroom is a bad idea. If they were in bed he could just continue fucking her silly until they passed out from exhaustion. He opens his mouth – to say what, he has no idea – but is interrupted by a toilet flushing in the neighboring stall.

Jaime and Brienne gape at each other in mortified silence as their unwitting voyeur exits the stall, washes their hands and leaves the bathroom. Jaime slaps a hand over his mouth, desperately trying not to laugh. Brienne turns the reddest he’s ever seen, which is saying something. On the bright side, it’s bought him enough time to consider his words. He cups her face in his palms and forces her to look at him. He sees the gears turning behind those bright blue eyes.

“Get out of your head, wench. This was a good thing. And I meant what I said.” He kisses her before she can respond. “Let’s get out of here,” he leers, “and then _let’s get out of here_.”

Still flushed but at least slightly amused, Brienne shoves lightly at his chest and leaves the stall. She looks back over her shoulder, giving his rumpled, well-fucked body a satisfied once over before walking out the door.

He waits for her to leave, thuds his head twice against the wall, then follows her out.


	13. Frogg's Spot (Brienne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback on the last chapter, guys! Glad to know you enjoy dirty bathroom sex as much as I do XD

Brienne beelines for the bar straight from the bathroom. She’s not much of a drinker but figures semipublic bathroom sex qualifies as a drink-worthy occasion. Although maybe a cigar would be more appropriate. She subdues a hysterical burst of laughter. She sees Sansa waving frantically from their cluster on the other side of the bar but she stubbornly ignores her and orders a shot of whiskey.

The liquor is still hot in her throat as she orders another and turns to find her flame haired friend standing before her, somehow having crossed the jam packed room in under fifteen seconds.

“Where have you _been_ , Bri?? We’re getting ready to go to the Weirdo! I thought you took off with Tor but then I saw him…elsewhere.”

For once Brienne isn’t the one blushing. “Up someone else’s skirt, you mean?” she asks, eyebrow raised good naturedly. She laughs at Sansa’s confirming silence. “It’s fine, Sansa. We were only ever about sex, that never changed.” She downs her second shot.

Sansa and Margaery are the only ones who know the truth about Brienne’s summer of love with Tormund, who is indeed a Wildling sex god. Not that she has anyone to compare him to, but she’s not complaining. Given her past with asshats like Ron Connington and Hyle Hunt, it’s understandable that Brienne has trust issues with guys, on top of her own personal body consciousness. Yet Tormund Giantsbane (yes, that’s really his last name) possessed just enough confidence, persuasion, and bullshit to breech Brienne’s defenses and get close enough to touch. And once he started touching…well, suffice it to say, he was _very_ persuasive.

After what she thought was a one night stand at the beach house on graduation night, Brienne was quite surprised when Tormund turned up on her father’s doorstep a week later, having taken a job on the east coast of Tarth. She spent most of that summer trawling for fish with him during the day and fucking through the night in his tiny apartment over the ship captain’s garage in Morne. At the end of the summer he headed up north and she went back to King’s Landing to start graduate school. Other than one tipsy night at Ygritte’s cousin’s wedding in Frostfang four years ago, she hasn’t spoken to him since.

Brienne has always viewed that summer very scientifically, considering it an educational experience more than anything else. Her heart was never at risk because there was no emotional entanglement between them. It was straight up lust from day one. He made it clear that he was into her and she thought he was pretty damn OK looking. Besides, at twenty-one her virginity was starting to feel less like a cherished gift and more like a dusty relic.

Sansa finally registers Brienne’s disheveled hair and the marks on her neck. “Are those…hickies?”

Brienne chokes on the whiskey. “Shut up,” she gasps in horror.

Sansa shakes her head. “Sorry to say it, but yes. Hickies. Brienne…”

She trails off as Jaime rolls up to the bar next to them, flagging the bartender for two of whatever Brienne’s having. Brienne tries to see him through Sansa’s eyes: he’s all fluid grace and tousled hair as per usual, nothing given away there. Although maybe the neckline of his t-shirt is a bit stretched. She doesn’t think the crescent shaped gouges from her fingernails digging into his biceps are visible in this light but…Brienne sighs. Yeah, definitely hickies.

She sees Sansa’s eyes widen the instant she puts two and two together, her dark blue eyes colliding with Brienne’s. She appears alternatively relieved, elated, and concerned. Fully aware of the current situation’s fraughtness, Sansa backs away without further comment, though not before removing the pink silk scarf she’s wearing and wrapping it around Brienne’s neck.

“Sansa – ” Brienne calls out without meaning to. Brienne is also relieved, elated, and concerned but doesn’t necessarily need all their friends to know that yet. Sansa perfectly interprets her friend’s worried look and nods reassuringly.

Brienne knows Jaime probably thinks everything is changed now but she’s not so sure. He said he loves her and she believes him but she doesn’t know what that means to him. She can feel his eyes on her. Telling herself to stop being a coward, she finally looks at him. His eyes are still heavy with desire but his mouth is poised in a playful grin. He leans in to speak directly in her ear.

“Get out of your head, wench.”

He laughs at her answering scowl, cocks his head toward the door while downing his shots. “We getting outta here?” 

Her giant blue eyes say it all. He sighs in resignation. “Why not?”

Brienne wants nothing more than to fuck Jaime against this bar right this fucking second. She wants to shove her tongue down his throat and her hand down his pants but she cannot let herself get caught up in the sex. She has spent too many years protecting herself to leap into the abyss, not yet. There’s safety in numbers. Surrounded by friends, she can maintain a modicum of distance from him. Alone, one smirk and she’ll be splayed across the nearest available surface.

“I can’t ditch Sansa and Margaery, not tonight.” She cuts him off before he can launch a counter argument. “Besides, where would we go, exactly? Back to the house filled wall-to-wall with our friends? I don’t think so. Look, you were right, we need to talk, so, we need to _talk_ , first, before, you know, we…this…happens again.”

He perks up at ‘again’. “So let’s go talk.”

She gives him a stern look. “I’m not leaving Marg and Sansa. We’re going to the Weirwood.”

The Weirwood Diner is the late night/early morning haunt of every student and third shift worker in King’s Landing. Business will be booming at two a.m., when the bars close and the drunken masses require coffee and bacon grease to function. It’s the perfect place to avoid an awkward post-coital conversation.

Brienne steps away from the bar. Emboldened by the whiskey, she calls out as she walks away, “You waited five years to make a move, Jaime. You can wait five more minutes.”

Holy shit, did she really just say that? Tyrion would die of shock if he heard her.

When Jaime finally joins the rest of them at the crowded table, he lets Brienne have some space. He doesn’t meet her eyes so she can’t tell if he’s pouting or behaving.

Sansa leaps into organizing mode, yelling over the band. “OK guys, the show’s almost over. Everyone’s going to the diner, right?” Her tone brooks no argument. She pins her gaze on Jaime. “ _Right?_ ”

He holds up his hands defensively. “Right! Geez.”

“Why are you wearing that?”

It takes Brienne a second to realize Margaery is talking to her. She’s looking at the pink scarf. “I was cold,” Brienne answers deftly, shocked by her own quick wittedness. Maybe she should drink more often. Or fuck Jaime some more.

Dany distracts Marg just then by introducing new people. “Guys, this is Asha and her brother Theon. We went to boarding school together in Braavos. Asha, Theon, this is the guys.”

They look familiar but Brienne can’t place them. After quick intros, Brienne feels like Asha is staring at her. Dany asks if they know each other. Just as she recognizes the Greyjoys from intramurals, Asha gives a sly smirk and says, “No, but we sort of…banged into each other in the bathroom a little while ago.” 

Brienne’s stomach bottoms out and all color drains from her face. Avoiding everyone, she looks at the floor. Sansa looks at Jaime. Margaery looks suspicious and confused. Tyrion can tell something is up but chooses to take pity on Brienne rather than torment his brother.

“Let’s get a move on, people!” he calls out with a flourish. “To the Weirdo!”


	14. Weirwood Diner (Brienne)

They invade the twenty-four-hour diner with the boisterousness of college kids on a bender. Brienne assesses their shoved-together tables, jockeying as far away from Margaery and Asha as she can. Unfortunately, this triangulates her into Jaime’s path. She ignores him when he sits next to her, when he puts his arm along the back of her chair, when he knocks his knee against hers under the table. Ignoring him is her normal reaction to his restless behavior. She easily imagines the smirk on his face right now. But when she finally glances over she finds the opposite of a smirk on his face. Now _he_ isn’t looking at _her_ , though their knees remain touching.

Suddenly she realizes she’s being a jerk. If someone she just had sex with refused to look at or talk to her, she’d be pissed and hurt. It’s easy to think Jaime’s not affected by her lack of response because he usually acts like he doesn’t give a shit about anything. But Brienne knows better than most how deeply he feels everything. It’s easy – and unkind – to think the millionaire golden boy deserves the pain of rejection for once in his privileged life when she knows most of his life has been a series of secret rejections. And she _isn’t_ rejecting him, she’s just trying to catch her breath. For fuck’s sake, they just had sex! With. Each. Other!! Never mind that it was in a public toilet, overheard by a total stranger-turned-awkward acquaintance.

After five years of unmitigated lust and three or four years of unrequited love, she suddenly finds herself on equal ground (if not footing) with – let’s face it – the man of her dreams. He’s flawed and a bit broken and probably too old for her and none of it matters. What’s maybe freaking her out the most is the pervasive sense of contentment settling over her. She was understandably skittish in the chaos and noise of the bar, unable to hear herself think, let alone process the best sex of her life which had just taken place up against a wall. Now, in the less noisy chaos of the diner, surrounded by the people she loves and trusts most in the world, she realizes she feels…good. It’s not just that she has no regrets; she feels _right_ in a way she never has before. _This_ is right, _they_ are right, and if she lets fear sabotage this fantasy come to life, she’s just an asshole.

This is Jaime, her best friend, who’s drawn blood on more than one occasion defending her honor. Jaime, who always has her back, who trusts her with the worst parts of himself, who held her at her father’s funeral and told her not to be stupid, she’d never be alone in the world, she had Margaery and Sansa and _him_. 

So what’s holding her back? It’s not that she doesn’t believe Jaime’s declaration of love, but the timing makes her uneasy. Why now? He said it wasn’t for any of the reasons she could think of but she knows him too well, something has to have happened for him to make such a bold move out of the blue. Which brings her to her most deeply rooted fear: that this has something to do with Cersei. Maybe she’s pregnant or moving away or joining the Silent Sisters, removing herself so distantly that it makes it easy for him to choose Brienne after all these years.

In some ways Jaime has just given her everything she’s ever wanted: love, respect, the rogering of a lifetime. None of it changes the past, though. It doesn’t erase her lifetime of insecurity or his incestuous history with the stunning sister he will always love, even if he’s no longer in love with her. She knows the affair is over for good. Still, Cersei is the paragon of womanly beauty, if not virtue, to which Jaime compares all others and there’s simply no comparison to make; outside and in, Brienne and Cersei are opposites in every way. Is Brienne to be his consolation prize? _This is Jaime_ , she repeats to herself. She trusts him enough to believe he wouldn’t do that to her.

She allows that trust to flow through her and the tension in her body melts away. Later they’ll talk and figure everything out. Now, they’ll eat waffles and steal each other’s bacon and tease Margaery and Sansa just like they always do. She looks over at him, hating the haunted look she knows she put there. She relaxes her shoulders and leans back against his arm. She’s still not ready for the inevitable scrutiny and ball busting of their friends but she hopes the gesture and her small smile assuage him for now. 

His green eyes clear immediately. Not missing a beat, he moves his hand from her chair to the top of her thigh. Chiming in on Jon and Drogo’s conversation about catalytic converters, she removes his hand from her leg but keeps it clasped in hers under the table. She can see Marg watching them from the corner of her eye.

Brienne knows that Margaery knows something is up. Her friend saw the little smile Brienne gave Jaime and has noticed that every time Sansa looks at them, she blushes and looks away. Jaime starts fiddling with the pink scarf around Brienne’s neck. She slaps his hand away but the scarf droops enough to reveal a red welt. Margaery’s eyes grow nearly as wide as her gaping mouth. Brienne sends her a silent, desperate plea to keep her mouth shut but Margaery is not picking up what Brienne is putting down. Just when it seems like the cat’s about to burst out of the bag, Asha, who’s been observing this bizarre exchange like a spectator at a jousting tournament, leans over and plants a smacker right on the bride-to-be’s mouth, effectively muzzling her. It also draws the attention of the entire table. Eventually Asha pulls back and smiles sheepishly. 

“Congratulations on your engagement,” she says innocently, cramming her mouth full of pancakes to avoid further discussion.


	15. Beach House (Brienne)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Finally chapter will post later today or tomorrow. Thanks for staying with me!

Finally ensconced in her bedroom at the beach house, Brienne leans against the door with a deep exhale, reveling in silent solitude. It’s the first time she’s been alone since breakfast. It’s a relief because she’s got some major shit to process but at the same time, anticipation of Jaime’s inevitable pursuit sends a delicious shiver down her spine. She ponders the events of the evening while changing into a ratty KLU t-shirt and comfy undies.

Brienne has accepted the platonic nature of their relationship for a long time, rationalizing away any occasional weirdness over the years when it seemed like maybe there was another kind of energy pulsing between them. Tonight they chose to upset that tenuous balance. There’s no going back now. After all this time, Jaime has made a move that will change them irrevocably.

For all her subdued fantasies, Brienne’s never really examined what it means to be in love with Jaime. Confronted now with its reciprocity, she’s scared shitless. She knows what to do with her own feelings – compartmentalizing is second nature after a lifetime of taunts and cruelty – but she’s totally fucking clueless when it comes to dealing with someone else’s. One thing she knows for sure is that while Jaime may act impulsively, he trusts himself enough to stand by those impulsive decisions. He is not a man who believes in regret, though he’s certainly had cause.

Another thing she knows is that Jaime doesn’t lie. Not to her, not to anyone. He may omit, he may prevaricate, he may deflect, but he does not lie. Through the haze of insecurity about herself and his sister, she’s beginning to grasp the truth of his actions tonight. If she truly loves Jaime, she has to do more than trust him. She needs to have faith in him, in his words, his actions, his feelings.

Brienne doesn’t need to be told there are no guarantees in this world; life has taught her that lesson many times over. Jaime would never intentionally hurt her but that doesn’t mean he won’t. There’s no way to know that everything will work out in the end. She doesn’t know if she believes in happily ever after but she believes in Jaime and she believes they can be happy right now. She owes it to herself to grab this golden opportunity with both hands and hold onto it, hold onto _him_ as close as she can for as long as she can.

She’s startled from her reverie by the rap of knuckles on her door.

“Who is it?” she calls out softly, knowing very well who.

“Cable guy, here to check your…connection.”

She cracks the door open to reveal Jaime’s smirking mug. “Really? That’s the best you could come up with? That doesn’t even make sense!”

“It kind of does, it’s just not funny.”

He swoops in and gathers her in his arms, kissing her to within an inch of her life.

“Listen wench, before you kick me out – ”

She silences him with her mouth. One hand trails down to lay flat against his chest while the other closes the door behind them. She maneuvers him backwards towards her bed. When the backs of his knees bump against the side of the bed, she exerts just enough pressure on his chest to send him sprawling on the mattress. She remains standing, looming over him. He props himself up on his elbows, looking up at her.

“You’re saying you’re in love with me.” It wasn’t a question.

He nods.

“You’re not in love with your sister anymore?” She holds her hand up before he can answer, before she can see his hesitation. “You’ll always love her, I know that. She’s your sister, it’s complicated. Are you _in love_ with her?”

He shakes his head solemnly.

“And now you want…what? You and me? To be together? Like _together_ together?”

His expression lightens. Another nod. 

Brienne rolls her eyes and looks heavenward, hands on her hips. “This is fucking nuts. What are we even _doing_? This could really fuck us up.”

Jaime sits in silence, letting her wade through it. She’s impressed he’s kept his mouth shut this long.

“Jaime…” Her expression darkens. “I don’t know how to be a girlfriend.”

That gets a laugh out of him, breaking the tension in the room. She’s suddenly aware of his lithe body stretched out on her bed, burgundy t-shirt rucked up a couple inches above the waistband of his jeans, exposing a tantalizing swath of golden musculature. His biceps strain against the sleeves, bulging with the exertion of supporting his upper body. How did every fucked up thing that ever happened in her life lead to this beautiful man sprawled on her bed? How could all their wrongs make this feel so right?

Jaime scoots to the edge of the bed and reaches out to tug her closer until she stands between his thighs. He grips her by the waist and pulls her flush against his chest, presses his palms into the small of her back, and buries his face in the cotton covered planes of her stomach. Desire simmers like magma beneath her surface. At last he looks up the massive length of her, chin nestled in the alcove of her belly button.

“Well that puts us in the same boat, wench, since I have no fucking clue how to be a boyfriend. Know what I was thinking? I was thinking about how even though I’m, like, _way_ older than you, you’re way more emotionally mature than me, so that sort of makes us even. Actually, by that math, _you’re_ the older one.”

She snorts. “Jaime, shut up and take off your clothes.”

Both of them are shocked by her boldness. Jaime wastes no time complying while Brienne panics internally, realizing she now has to put her money where her mouth is. Stupid mouth. Because after everything she’s done and said and felt tonight, she’s still fucking terrified of taking her clothes off in front of another person. In spite of an overall increase in confidence brought about by age, experience, and a lot of hard work, Brienne is still self-conscious about her size and lack of curves.

She’s always been diligent when it comes to protecting her modesty; there’s been very little nudity over the years, accidental or otherwise (on her part, that is; Jaime’s not shy about baring his ass in public). This is the final test. If this relationship or whatever is going to work, she needs to get over this shit right now. It’s just Jaime. A now gloriously naked Jaime. Who else is she gonna get naked in front of? She glances longingly at the light switch across the room but refuses to give in to cowardice. She yanks the shirt over her head and her underwear down her legs, kicking them off her ankles. Her defiant stance dares him to mock her. Not that he would. In fact he looks sort of…reverent. She takes unexpected pleasure in his greedy glances over her naked, freckled, rapidly reddening body.

When they clutch at each other and fall backward on the bed, the shock of so much bare skin coming into contact draws a gasp from them both. They laugh awkwardly, then with real humor as the reality of being naked together sinks in. She places her palms gently on his face to focus his gaze on her. She lets him see her faith in him, her acceptance of his love, before she says, “I love you too, Jaime.”

This time their lovemaking is everything the fuck in that bathroom was not. They tease and gasp and learn new things about themselves and each other. Afterwards she snuggles against his chest and insinuates one thigh between his own, enjoying the aching languor suffusing her body. Her fingers card the gold and occasional silver curls scattered over his chest while his trail softly up her back and over her shoulders. They lay tangled in an afterglow of arms, legs, sheets and breaths for what could have been forever but was probably only twenty minutes.

“Jaime…why now? What changed?”

His body remains relaxed, his breathing unaltered. After one long, slow exhale he reaches for his jeans on the floor, digging his cell phone out of the pocket. He scrolls through his texts and hands it to her.


	16. Beach House (Jaime)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that all characters, settings, references and details firmly belong to GRRM and only the goofy stuff is mine?

Jaime talks a mile a minute.

“I’ve felt…like this…for a while. And I got the feeling you might feel the same way about me.” He’s being kind, Brienne is shit at hiding her feelings. “But I didn’t do anything about it because I didn’t want to mess things up between us, ruin our friendship or whatever. But also…it always felt like Cersei was looming over us, between us. Was I really over her? If she snapped her fingers, would I go running? If she spread her legs…” He chokes to a stop. “How could we know I was ever truly free of her? And then I got that the other night.” He gestures to his phone in her hands.

She looks at the text message.

> **Rainbow Guard:** She’s leaving him 

 “Rainbow Guard?”

“Loras,” he explains. “It’s an old joke from when him and Renly first started…dating.”

Understanding dawns across her face. “Cersei. Cersei’s leaving Robert?”

“That’s what Robert told them. Maybe she finally had enough of his screwing around. Maybe she’s trying to manipulate him. Who fucking knows with Cersei.”

“What does that have to do with…this?” She can’t quite bring herself to say “us”.

“I saw this…” He takes the phone back, staring at the message in wonder. “I saw this and suddenly, this became a world where I could have her. And all I wanted was you.” 

Her wide blue eyes fill with tears that don’t spill.

“No one knows me, _all_ of me, like you, Brienne. Not Cersei, not Tyrion. No one else knows my heart. And no one knows yours like me. I thought, if Cersei’s not holding us back now, what is? The rest of my horrible family and my overall shittiness haven’t scared you off so far. I know I’m too old and I don’t deserve someone as _good_ as you but I figure you’re a grown ass woman who can decide for herself what’s good enough. So I decided to seduce you this weekend.” He pulls her close, teasing a kiss around the edges of her lips but not delivering. “How’m I doing so far?”

“Not too bad, I’d say,” she whispers against his mouth.

Soon his hips are nestled between hers again as their kisses and sighs and warm breaths become the whole world.

They fall asleep, wake before dawn and fuck through exhaustion, trying to stay connected for as long as possible. He wakes her again after the sun is up, eliciting a low moan with his fingers between her legs. It’s his tongue on her nipple that finally drives her eyes open, meeting his across the less-than-modest swell of her pale breast. He knows she’s insecure but he’s not disappointed by the size of her tits or any other part of her body. 

Jaime’s not so oblivious that he hasn’t noticed Brienne is the polar opposite of Cersei, and not just physically. His whole life, he was used to a very specific version of himself reflected back from his twin sister, beautiful, conniving, and lustful. For nearly two decades they fabricated a fantasy world around themselves and he believed in it with every fiber of his being, until it fell apart and unraveled him along with it. He’d truly believed they were destined to live and die as they were born: together. Even once he realized it was all just a fantasy, that he would never be enough for her, he held on past all reason and sense.

The last time they fucked, he’d begged Cersei to leave her husband and run away with him. She laughed in his face. He finally found the strength to walk away and it almost killed him. If they didn’t belong together, what the fuck was his place in the world? He became sullen and reclusive, giving said world the finger by drowning in as much alcohol as it took to grant him a dreamless sleep. Thank the gods Tyrion never gave up on him.

And then one day Brienne appeared, a bright, hulking beacon in his darkness. Even when he hated her, he’d found her fascinating. In Brienne, he found another mirror reflecting back parts of himself he’d forgotten or neglected. She was the first person he’d ever met whose passion for medieval history and literature matched his own. She was courageous in the face of fear, loyal as a dog, and honest to a fault. Her size, in combination with her occasionally formidable disposition, demanded that attention be paid, even if it was the last thing she wanted. There was something very satisfying about her body and the way it could match his. Cersei was strong but she was delicate, too. He always had to keep himself in check, always careful not be too _much_. With Brienne, he was unfettered. He knew it the minute they went toe-to-toe at that first volleyball game. He didn’t enjoy hurting her, and he certainly didn’t like when she hurt him. It just felt good going up against someone who could give as good as she got.

The same has turned out to be true between the sheets, to his utter delight. They’ll both bear bruises later today but every one will be well earned and damn worth it. She runs her fingers through his hair as his own fingers delve deeper inside her. Her grunt alone makes him hard but it’s the uninhibited pleasure on her face that makes him desire her.

He’s momentarily disoriented when she suddenly shoves him onto his back but before he can complain, she straddles his hips and pins his wrists over his head. Never breaking eye contact, she maneuvers her pelvis against his erection, slipping and squirming over and around him until the tip of his cock finds purchase within the folds of her cunt. They both hold their breath as she adjusts her position while maintaining the delicate balance between them, exhaling in unison as she slowly impales herself until she rests flush against his hips. For several seconds they don’t move, enraptured by the sight of their joining.

That’s as far as things get before the knocking starts. In five years Jaime’s never seen Brienne move so fast. He might doubt she’d just been fucking him if his cock wasn’t glistening with her wetness. He starts laughing and can’t stop. She glares at him from beneath the sheet now covering her from toes to nose.

The knocking continues, joined by concerned voices.

“Brienne, are you OK? It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“You’re missing out on Tysha’s pancakes!” 

“We can’t find Jaime but his car’s still here, Tyrion’s about to go looking for him in the woods.”

Titters and giggles give the game away. Jaime manages to clutch a pillow over his nether region before the door crashes open and literally everybody bursts into the room, completely unfazed by the sight before them. Margaery and Sansa bear a tray of breakfast foods with arch smugness. By now the sheet is pulled completely over Brienne’s head.

Drogo raises a smirking eyebrow. “Stud.” 

“Why thank you,” Jaime preens.

“I was talking to her." 

Jaime laughs and gazes fondly at the sheet-covered heap beside him. “Yeah, she kind of is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my story! All the kind comments & lovely kudos have been greatly appreciated. This was a really fun experience. I adore Jaime & Brienne and just wanted to spread the love.
> 
> I'm contemplating a wedding day follow up, mostly just an excuse to get these guys to bang more. We'll see!


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